


and teach this heart (how to beat with light)

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Medical, Angst, Aunt Peggy Carter, Blood and Injury, Breaking Up & Making Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Hand wavy medicine but trying my best, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Parent Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Tags will be updated with the work, Violence, and the rest of the avengers, is amazing, some trigger warnings:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 44,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22859923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eight years ago, at a funeral with a baby's cries ringing in his ears, Tony Stark decided to turn his life around. He's a genius, billionaire, philanthropist. What's so hard to adding 'doctor' to that list?And after that, it can't be that hard to add 'husband' and 'father' too, right?But the past has a way of haunting even the very best of us, and in any universe, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers have never had an easy love.Featuring: drama, chaos, Peter's scheming, meddling friends, and doctors learning again that the heart can never be as simple as four chambers and four valves.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 98
Kudos: 317
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Old Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [May's Anatomy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273605) by [marvelleous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/marvelleous). 



> I read marvelleous' work five years ago, and it was the first fic to make me cry. It's extremely well written and full of heart. If you read it or have read it, there's some major spoilers but this story diverges in several ways.
> 
> I should be updating this story twice a week, it's halfway written and it's been very therapeutic writing it. Comments and constructive criticism are very welcome :)
> 
> Enjoy!

_**One Week Before Day Zero** _

“No, get Strange to do it. Looking at a man’s spine might be boring for him but I’m not taking my time off this kid,” Tony huffed, ending the call even as the man on the line continues to sputter.

The clock on his phone tells him he’s got another 23 minutes before Harley comes in for one last check-up, and not for the first time Tony wishes Stane Hospitals would let him have an on-site workshop so he could use those minutes to do some productive mindless tinker instead of stare at all the mounting paperwork he’s due to get passive aggressive reprimands for ignoring. Tony’s still Tony Stark after all, even if he’s left Stark Industries to Pepper, and people are still wary of his wealth.

Tony’s never been more grateful for Pepper, and he’s never felt so bereft without her help here, but Obie had Stane Hospitals, which ruled California’s medical scene. Stane Hospitals was also the only one crazy (or motivated) enough to let Tony have a hands on approach with his medical patents even when, despite his numerous doctorates in engineering, he wasn’t really that kind of doctor. Still, Tony didn’t invent the world’s first, best, and only AI for nothing. Just because he couldn’t be bothered to do medical school, his medical understanding could rival Strange’s.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“You’re not Harley,” Tony says, half question, half disappointment.

The nurse, Angie, gives him an unimpressed look. She’s one of the best here, and underneath her veil of politeness, she’s the least bothered with Tony’s eccentricity. “No, but Mr. Stane’s just been spotted entering the building and I thought you’d like to know.”

Tony curses under his breath. “Thank you, could you maybe take a little longer measuring Harley’s blood pressure or whatever you can think of?”

Angie nods, ducking out of his office, and Tony turns in his chair. Obie being here means nothing good. He’s been hounding Tony for the Arc Reactor Technology, and Tony knows how it could revolutionise the medical world and bring Obie the profits to send both his hospitals and Stark Industries to even greater heights. But even JARVIS doesn’t have access to the blueprints only in Tony’s mind, and that’s because Tony’s been wary of Obie ever since he disapproved Tony steering the company away from Howard’s weapons to medical and green technology. Tony knows how dangerous his technology is in the wrong hands – and ever since – ever since _the incident_ – Tony vowed his hands would never make anything that could harm. That he would only help in making a better world for… for _him._ Tony didn’t even know his name. Only knew brown eyes and the smallest fingers and – Tony forced his mind away. He couldn’t afford this right now. He took a deep breath and –

“My boy! I was in the area and – ” Obie’s voice boomed in the doorway, and Tony forced a smile on his face.

“Obie, again, the Arc isn’t ready yet. It’s gonna take months at least before I solve the catalyst problem,” Tony said, not bothering to get up from his seat.

Obadiah brushed some non-existent dust off the shoulders of his immaculate suit and leaned forward on Tony’s table. “Tony, my boy, I’m starting to think you’re not taking this job seriously. You being here has given us a lot of bad press. People are scared of coming to a hospital where they might be treated by an alcoholic and an ex-addict. You’ve got to give me something or I’m afraid we can’t keep this deal any longer.”

The room feels colder, and Tony clenches his jaw. Obadiah’s eyes glint with victory. He knows that Tony’s long since solved the Arc Reactor problem, and he knows how desperate Tony is to help in this way. They’re at a stalemate, Tony staring right back at the uncle he’s learned to mistrust, and Obadiah with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Mr. Tony, sir?”

 _Oh, thank god_ , Tony thinks as he sees Harley and Angie at the door.

Obadiah blanches but quickly covers it up, eyes turning even sharper. “It was nice talking to you, Tony. I hope you’ll reconsider, otherwise, well, you’ve always had a fondness for boys his age.”

And then he was gone. Tony wanted to slump in relief, but Harley was there and Harley needed Tony to smile.

“What was that, Mr. Tony?” Harley asked.

“Nothing, go sit, kid. How’s your eye?”

“I’m not a kid, Mr. Tony.”

This. This was why Tony was here, and by god, he wouldn’t let the likes of Obie stop him.

* * *

“Director,” Steve says, not bothering to knock on her office door.

Peggy stares at Steve through her reading glasses, putting her paper down. “SHIELD Memorial thanks you for respecting its Director’s consultation hours,” she dryly tells him, but there’s a small smile on her face. “Are you here to give me a headache or some good news?”

“A little bit of both,” Steve admits, sitting down in one of the plush chairs across from her.

“I heard that Pierce resigned today, and since he runs the clinical trials division, I thought I’d ask you who you’re having as replacement?”

“Eager, aren’t you, Doctor Rogers?”

Steve smiles sheepishly. Peggy knew the entire hospital disliked Pierce’s arrogance, even if they couldn’t be rid of him because of his money. It was also rumoured that Peggy was harbouring high hopes for whomever she planned on replacing Pierce, but she had always sealed her lips.

“Well,” Peggy goes on, “if I can convince him, you should meet him by the end of the week. Until then, Doctor Rogers, the paediatrics ward awaits you.”

“Keep your secrets then,” Steve huffs, smiling as he walks back out. “Just wanted to tell you the party’s at six, but the _real_ party’s at Bucky’s place.”

“You know getting me drunk won’t make me spill anything, Steve!”

His laughter echoes as he walks away, Peggy keeping the grin on her face. She stares at her closed door for a few seconds, then flicks her hair behind her shoulder. Unlocking her phone, she looks at the name in her contacts and decides to just call. He picks up after three rings.

“Hello my darling Aunt Peggy,” his smooth drawl confident as ever, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Tony, dear, how are you?” She wants to ask him about the job straight away, but she also misses him like a limb.

“Wonderful, of course.”

“In that case,” Peggy teases, “you wouldn’t be interested in a job here that opened up?”

“What job?” Tony takes the bait instantly, and Peggy doesn’t need to ask to know he’s going to accept.

“Alexander Pierce just resigned. My hospital’s lacking someone to head the clinical trials division, and you seem to have racked up an impressive CV in the two years since you’ve personally gone into medicine.”

“How soon do you need me?”

Taking a pen, Peggy signs the newly printed contract of employment in front of her.

“Oh, Tony, I can’t wait to spoil you.”


	2. First Impressions

**_Day 1_ **

“This is your lab, you’ll be working with Doctors Banner and Cho,” Peggy tells Tony. “You’ll have your own space for explosions, Doctor Banner doesn’t usually do well with surprises.”

Tony sets his toolbag down on the floor, taking in the impressively large and advanced space around him. He’d given up Malibu for New York, following the lure of SHIELD’s state-of-the-art facilities and amazing team of doctors. Seeing how much he’d been deprived of at Stane Hospitals almost makes it worth leaving Pepper, Angie, and Harley behind, but even the thought makes the guilt settle heavier in him. He’s left behind so many people so many times in his selfishness, and although he tries and tries to justify it by saying he’ll be able to do more good if he’s surrounded by the right people, it still sounds hollow to his ears.

As always, Peggy senses his discomfort. “You’ll settle in just fine, Tony. Bruce and Helen are amazing, they’re probably the only ones who’ll be able to keep up with your mind.”

“Thank you for this, Aunt Pegs,” Tony says sincerely. For all his guilt, he _is_ thankful that he and his inventions are in safe hands with Peggy Carter. No one dares to cross her.

“It’s my pleasure, Tony. Now, I’ve got to get back to my papers. Will you be alright?”

He nods. He won’t be alright, not here in New York with its too many ghosts, and Aunt Peggy knows that, but she also knows what he needs, so she only smiles back.

“Welcome to SHIELD, then, Doctor Stark.”

“My pleasure, Director Carter.”

The tension melts away between them. Tony has yet to apologise for the hundreds of calls he never answered, for shutting her out, but having her just five feet away from him feels like coming home, feels like some of the forgiveness he’s always craved but never dared to believe he deserves.

And no one crosses Peggy Carter. So Tony accepts her olive branch, and promises that he won’t waste this like he wasted Rumiko. Like he wasted… _him_.

* * *

“Peter, you’ll be late for school,” Steve sighs, putting the breadknife in the sink. It’s tiring being a single father and a doctor, and although Peter’s always worth it, there are days when Steve’s eyes feel too heavy and being around children the entire day is exhausting. Honestly, Steve loves his job, he’d always wanted to be a doctor – he won’t ever forget the months spent in the hospital being sick, and then the weeks spent sleepless by his mother’s bedside as her chest heaved with rasping breaths. It’s just that he’s spent over twenty four hours being awake, which tends to make anyone rather irritable.

“Coming, Dad!” Peter calls, bounding out of his room half a minute later with his little backpack strapped to his shoulders.

A smile blossoms on Steve’s face, some of the exhaustion lifting reflexively. Steve can’t imagine what monster would choose to give up for adoption a boy as wonderful as Peter, but Steve is selfishly, guiltily thankful.

“Sorry I’m not fresh enough to drive you to school today, Petey,” Steve gives him the sandwich he just made.

“Is that peanut butter?” Peter’s brown eyes widen with glee.

“Sure is. Stay out of trouble today, okay?” Steve feels his smile widen even more, steering Peter out the door where Natasha’s waiting to help drive his kid to school. Peter’s only eight, yet he’s taken his school by storm with his understanding of high school chemistry and impatience to wait. Steve’s been called one too many times for Peter’s mishaps in science class, but Steve is far too proud of a father. “And don’t forget to have fun,” he fondly reminds, bending down to kiss Peter’s unruly curls.

Peter beams up at him, “you know I will. Don’t forget to sleep, dad.”

“As the master of the house commands,” Steve grins, unlocking the door of their apartment, and Peter spares him one last smile before he launches himself into Natasha’s arms with a happy ‘ _Aunt Tasha!_ ’

Everyone thinks Natasha, SHIELD’s resident Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, is an ex-assassin of some sorts with extreme dexterity in knives. Steve doesn’t quite know the truth, but he knows that Peter’s sunshine can melt even Natasha’s calm surface.

“I’ll take care of him,” Natasha promises warmly, and Steve can only nod, his mind weary and heart heavy at seeing Peter leave, even if only for school. He closes the door to Peter chattering Natasha’s ears off as they walk down the hall to the lifts. Shaking his head, Steve walks to the bedroom.

He doesn’t need to come back to the hospital until tomorrow, and he’s looking forward to spending the evening with Peter.

* * *

The universe has other plans. Steve’s feeling refreshed, and has _just_ finished bringing the popcorn to the couch where Peter’s curled up with his Captain A-Bear-ica – a gift from his birth father, Steve’s always been slightly jealous of Peter’s love for the doll but never had the heart to deny Peter anything – when his phone rings with the special ringtone.

He sees Peter’s face fall. “Doctor Rogers,” he answers.

At the other end of the line is Bucky, who is frantic. There’s a kid who needs surgery _right now_ , and there’s no one else in paediatrics who’s qualified except Bucky.

“I’m coming in. Let me just call Coulson to keep Peter company,” Steve replies, his voice tight.

Bucky sighs, relief and guilt mingling. “Tell your boy we’re sorry.”

“I’ll be there in thirty,” Steve says, hanging up. He turns to Peter who’s hugging his bear, the movie on screen paused, “I’m so, so sorry, Petey, but – ”

Peter, blessed as he is, cuts him off. “It’s okay, daddy. Go be a hero.”

Steve bites his lip, rushing forward to gather Peter in his arms. He wonders how he got so lucky. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“Yeah, dad, but another kid needs you more than me right now,” Peter says, words muffled against Steve’s chest.

“You’re the best. I’ll be home soon,” Steve says, because it’s the only thing he can say.

* * *

“Who is _he?_ ” Steve demands as soon as he sets foot in the operating room. There’s a short man with a goatee in surgery gear holding a glowing thing in his hand above a little girl’s chest, and Bucky’s standing across from him with his jaw hanging.

“The name’s Tony, sweetheart,” the strange man replies, and he’s _putting_ the glowing thing _inside_ the girl’s chest.

“Peggy approved,” Bucky chimes in, not taking his eyes off Tony’s hands. Stepping closer, Steve can hear a slight whirring from whatever it is Tony is holding. “We were getting short of ideas, Tony had a solution.”

Internally, Steve forced himself to tamp down his emotions. He didn’t approve, but now wasn’t the time. “Fine. What can I do?”

“Just stand there and look pretty, darling,” Tony drawled, and Steve had to clench his fists. He was both transfixed by what Tony was doing and outrageously annoyed at the audacity of the man.

“You’ll find that as Head of Paediatrics, I’m more qualified than you,” Steve bites out.

At long last, Tony finally deigns to glance up at Steve. Steve has one second to realise _wow, he’s actually quite handsome_ , before Tony looks back down at the girl with a scowl. “Her parents agreed, so you’ll find that as the only genius in the room, I’m – ”

The heart monitor beeps loudly, numbers turning red, Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, and Tony’s fingers dance along the glowing device.

“Shit.”


	3. Second Impressions

**_Day 1.5_ **

“I’m sorry,” Steve says over the rush of water. The girl’s resting peacefully with a new pacemaker that Tony claims could ‘run her heart for fifty lifetimes’, and after a first-hand look at Tony’s skill, Steve’s thoroughly chastised. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Tony just huffs. Looking up from the hands he’s washing, Steve can see the surprise behind Tony’s guarded eyes. Their brown is familiar, like the comfort of Peter’s. It gives Steve a little hope that maybe, just maybe, this could end up better than Pierce. Steve barrels on, as he always does when nervous, “I’ve got a kid of my own, and I’m just… protective. Pierce, the guy before you, was horrible with the children.”

“You’re saying being a father makes you an asshole?” Tony asks, lips curling up to one side, amused at the red flush spreading down the other guy’s neck.

“I was supposed to spend tonight with my son, been a long time since I had the evening off.”

It’s not much of an excuse, Steve knows. Still, Tony seems to have forgiven him, and, drying his hands, Steve passes Tony a tissue.

“Thanks, dear.”

“It’s Steve.”

“What?” Tony isn’t even paying Steve any more attention, he’s busy untangling a mess of wires from his pockets.

“My name. It’s Steve.”

Again, Tony looks up and there’s something unreadable in his gaze, calculating and wary, like he doesn’t know what Steve wants. That’s fair. _Steve_ doesn’t know what Steve wants, except that he knows he made a huge mistake underestimating Tony in the OR, and he wants to know more about the genius behind those steady, skilled hands. _God,_ Steve thinks, _Bucky is going to have a blast if he finds out_. It’s fortunate for Steve’s sanity that Bucky had rushed out to meet the girl’s mother, or he would have laughed himself silly at the red Steve knows is racing up his cheeks. The longer Tony looks at him without breaking the silence, the hotter it feels. He fiddles with the crumpled, wet tissue in his hands.

“You’re Doctor Rogers,” at last Tony says. There’s a note of heavily disguised awe in his voice. “You’re the Steve that Au – that Peggy keeps talking about.”

 _Oh god_ , Steve thinks again. Sometimes, the magazines still cover stories about his days as an army doctor and the explosion that led to him getting a Medal of Honor. He came to SHIELD only because of Peggy, because the doctors here didn’t treat him any different just because he’s seen the desert and the guns. “Depends on what she’s told you.”

“That you’re the sweetest damn soul she’s ever met. Didn’t expect you to have so many muscles.”

Steve laughs, the tension rolling out of him. He finally throws his tissue in the bin as Tony pockets the neatly rolled coils of wire. Opening the door, Steve lets Tony out first.

“A classic gentleman,” Tony quips, “no wonder Peggy loves you.”

“How’d you know Peggy?” Steve asks as they walk down the hallway. It’s one in the morning and there’s just the two of them with the bright white lights overhead.

Tony looks at him with a raised brow. “You don’t know who I am?”

Steve frowns back. “No? Should I?”

The snort that comes out of Tony is genuinely disbelieving, and Steve squints suspiciously.

“You really don’t know me?”

“I know you’re Tony, and you're the next mad scientist Peggy picked after Doctor Banner.”

“Well, darling, if you want to know what to shout in bed – fuck, sorry,” Tony cuts himself off. “Pep says I should tone myself down, but I need coffee, and you’re married with a kid, and – ”

Tony startles at the warm hand on his shoulder. _Steve_ is startled at his own hand on Tony’s shoulder. He quickly snatches it away, letting it settle back awkwardly against his thigh. “Sorry,” Steve says for what he feels is the millionth time today, “it’s alright. No harm. I’m not married.”

“Oh.” Scratching the back of his head, Tony’s eyes dart around nervously for one second before they lock onto Steve’s again, a practiced calm settling across his face. “Well, I’ve got to see the girl before – ”

“We could get coffee,” Steve blurts out. And then, “oh God, sorry, I didn’t – ”

Tony’s practiced smile turns into something more real and they continue their walk, “I’d love some coffee, big guy, but let’s save that for next time. You’ve got a son to get home to. There’s a girl with a plausible weapon of mass destruction in her chest who I need to see.”

“A _what?_ ” Steve barely holds back his shout.

All Tony does is give Steve a mad grin, “look me up, Rogers. Then we’ll get that coffee.”

Steve wants to say something more, but, too soon, they’re in front of the little girl’s room. Her mother is sat by the bed, thanking Bucky over and over as she clutches her daughter’s hand. Bucky catches sight of them by the door and waves them in.

“This is Doctor Stark, Mrs. Williams. He invented the device keeping Riri’s heart going. She’s the very first in the world with it,” Bucky says in introduction.

Steve stands back as Mrs. Williams rushes up to hug Tony, Tony’s face is scrunched up as he slowly pats her back. “Thank you, Doctor,” she says again as she pulls away, tucking her curls behind her ear.

“Doctor Rogers helped too, he’s Head of Paediatrics, so he’s really more qualified than me with the children,” Tony smoothly says, mischief mingled with something else in his eyes.

Bucky looks just as shocked as Steve at Tony’s words, and Steve struggles to find his own words as Mrs. Williams decides it’s Steve’s turn to be hugged. He’s still caught up with _Doctor Stark_ because who doesn’t know Tony Stark? _Oh God_ , Steve panics, _I just asked Tony Stark out for coffee._

Distantly, Steve notices that Tony’s made a beeline for Riri’s bed. Despite the heart monitor, Tony’s measuring her pulse at her wrist, looking at the IV levels and gently placing her hand back on top of the beige blanket. There’s a softness in Tony’s eyes that make Steve want to gather him in his arms.

Bucky clears his throat and Steve forces himself to snap back. He can feel Mrs. William’s tears soaking through his shirt, so he squeezes her shoulder once before slowly pulling away. “It was a group effort, really, ma’am,” Steve earnestly says. “We’re lucky it’s Doctor Stark’s first day here.”

Across the room, Bucky sends a sharp look at Steve. Steve knows he’s going to have to spill everything to Bucky, but that realisation is flooded out by another, more dangerous thought: _fuck._

 _Of all people_ , Steve curses his heart, _why Tony Stark?_


	4. Another Try

**_Day 4_ **

****

It’s flu season, which means Steve’s consultation hours are filled to the brim with coughing children. His position ensures that he gets only the children in the worst conditions, but it makes the job even more emotionally draining, especially when he knows there’s very little he can do. The busyness helps, though, it takes his mind off the turmoil that meeting Tony Stark has triggered. Steve’s not ashamed (well, only slightly ashamed) to admit that he StarkSearched the man as soon as the apartment was empty of Peter.

After all, Peter is mesmerised by the miracles that Stark Industries invents. Sometimes, Steve wonders how this could be his life and if there really is a God out there mocking him. He’s given up calling the man Doctor Stark in his head. For some forsaken reason, Steve’s mind insists on a litany of _Tony_.

The busyness still can’t save Steve from his friends, though. Natasha, Clint, Sam, and, most persistently, Bucky have all sung praises of Tony Stark. After a brief altercation Steve doesn’t dare to needle Natasha about, Natasha now has a rare respect for Tony, whereas Clint fell headfirst into fawning over Tony when Tony presented him with top-of-the-line hearing aids less than an hour after discovering Clint’s ancient ones. Somehow, Doctor Stark has charmed nearly the whole of SHIELD Memorial’s staff.

The few people who aren’t impressed whisper of Tony’s drunken days, his association with weapons industrialist Obadiah Stane, and his playboy days. They gossip about Rumiko Fujikawa, whose death sent Stark insane for months. ‘ _She died giving birth_ ,’ they say in hushed voices in the break room, ‘ _nobody knows what happened with the baby. Maybe Stark killed his kid and he thinks this white saviour act is penance_. _Rich people think they’re entitled to everything._ ’

Steve knows they’re jealous and scared of Tony’s dominating energy, but Steve can’t reconcile the drug addict that overdosed weeks after his fiancée’s death with the kind man who saved a little girl’s life with the brilliance of his mind and the gentleness of his hands. It isn’t Steve’s place to judge, even if Steve can’t deny his curiosity about the truth.

So, he struggles to put Tony to the side as he heads over to the NICU, where he needs to check to approve for a baby to be taken out of hypothermia therapy. It’s these sick babies who weigh heaviest in Steve’s heart: Steve knows intimately what it means to struggle for life from the very first second. His haziest, earliest memories are of his mother singing softly to him as he struggles against the needle in his arm.

Of course, just when he’s managed to distract himself, he hears – 

“– give the baby up for adoption. If you aren’t ready for him, there might be someone out there who is.”

Steve freezes. That’s Tony’s voice from the waiting room. Slowing down his steps, he sneaks a glance inside and sees Tony hunched next to a very pregnant teenager, holding her hand. There’s an irrational anger at the reminder that Peter’s birth parents might have abandoned him at the advice of someone like Tony. It’s not Steve’s place to interfere, though. Objectively, one could see how Tony could be right, but by God, Steve still hates Peter’s birth parents for leaving him alone in the hands of strangers for over a week before Steve found him. Peter didn’t even have a _name_ until Steve came along.

“Doctor Stark,” Steve calls from the doorway before he can stop himself. “A word, please?”

Tony’s head jerks up towards him, and his eyes light up slightly. Steve hears Tony apologize to the young woman before he comes over, a small smile on his lips.

“Any miracles you need, Doctor Rogers?”

“Walk with me,” Steve says. After all, he does have a baby to attend to. Tony follows along happily enough. “What do you think happens to babies after they’re put up for adoption?”

It’s an honest question, but something dangerous glints in Tony’s eyes. His stance is no longer open or welcoming. “Why do _you_ care?”

“That’s what you’re telling the lady to do with her child. That’s what her child will grow up knowing.”

“I know more than you think,” Tony’s voice is cold now.

Steve meets the challenge head on. “My son didn’t have a name for eight days. He was left anonymously in some random hospital by parents who didn’t care enough.”

Beside him, Tony audibly swallows. Steve doesn’t dare to look, pretending to be focused on the file in his hands, the tension growing. They’re nearly at the NICU when Tony speaks.

“What about the girl’s life? Don’t get righteous with me, Rogers.”

The doors slide open in front of them. Tony doesn’t follow Steve any further, so Steve finally lowers the file and makes himself turn around to look at the harsh lines on Tony’s face. “There’s no right or wrong with these things,” Steve says in lieu of a goodbye, “It’s just sort of personal for me.”

Tony doesn’t reply, just turns on his heel and stalks back down the hall.

* * *

It’s late when Steve bumps into Bruce as he hands in his paperwork for the day.

“How’s Peter?” Bruce greets Steve. His glasses are slightly askew and lab coat tainted with some green substance Steve internally decides is better to leave unquestioned.

“He’s with Phil. I have the day off tomorrow, so looking forward to spending time with him.”

On the rare occasions that Bruce emerges from the lab, Steve truly enjoys talking with the good doctor, who’s rumoured to be receiving a Nobel Prize soon for his work in oncology and gamma radiation. A physicist who found passion in medicine, Doctor Banner’s an extraordinary man with a distinctive sense of humour.

“When it’s not flu season, you should bring him around. Tony’s going to have a field day with your little genius.”

Something ugly stirs in Steve. Peter would love Tony, Steve knows that for sure, and yet Steve wants Tony Stark to stop invading every corner of his life, of his mind. “Yeah,” he tells Bruce noncommittally, “of course.”

Steve’s never been good at fibbing, so it’s natural that Bruce raises an eyebrow and comment, “heard you and Tony aren’t getting along well.”

 _Of course Bruce knows_ , Steve chides himself, _nothing stays secret in this rumor mill._ “Something about him just riles me up. He’s a good man,” Steve willingly admits, “even if I can’t help myself.”

Bruce has that unnervingly all-knowing look in his eyes. He nudges his glasses up his nose. “I’ve got to go. Timed experiment. But come by my lab with my chai tea and a cup of black coffee if you’ve got time next week,” he tells Steve.

“I thought coffee wasn’t good for your blood pressure?”

Bruce only huffs, waving over his shoulder at Steve as he takes increasingly quick steps.

“Huh,” Steve says to himself. Whatever schemes Bruce is planning, Steve can leave for after tomorrow. Right now, all he wants is to listen to Peter’s voice telling him everything about school and everything he’s done to drive Principle Morita up the wall.


	5. Practice Makes Perfect

_**Day 9** _

“Rhodeybear,” Tony half whines into the phone, “if you’re in D.C. you can drop by New York.”

Warm laughter echoes in his ear, “you miss me that much?”

“No,” the pout is clear in his voice, “I just deserve some love.”

“I’ll try to make it,” Rhodey relents, and then, because he’s the friend that he is, “how’s working for Peggy? Did you meet the legendary Doctor Rogers?”

Tony looks around the lab just to make extra sure that it really is deserted. It’s especially early for Tony to be in, but he wanted to catch Rhodey before he disappeared into endless days of appeasing the higher ups in the Air Force, and it seemed pointless to waste his waking hours away from this mouth-watering heaven of a lab Peggy spared for him. Bruce and Helen haven’t come in for the day, and he’s grateful that they won’t ever know of his latent, hopeless crush for the war hero.

“He hates me, Rhodey. He says sorry then keeps picking fights with me. All bulging muscles and constipated glare.” _And baby blue eyes_ , not that Rhodey needs to know that particular detail. “Turns out he has a kid, though.”

“You know stalking is a no-no in Pepper’s book, Tony,” Rhodey teasingly reminds.

Tony squawks indignantly. “I didn’t _stalk_ him or hack his phone. I talked with him.”

“Like a normal human?” Rhodey asks with disbelieving laughter, “I thought you were fighting.”

“I can be a normal human,” Tony sniffs, picking up a hologram atom to zoom in on. “He didn’t even recognise me when we first met. So I told him to look me up and I think the All American Saint thinks my sins are too many.”

Beneath Tony’s flippant tone, Rhodey knew what Tony really meant.

“It’s his loss if he can’t see the heaven-sent gift that you are, Tony,” he says over the phone, and Rhodey, who’s known Tony since his scrawny MIT days, goes on, “although it might be a blessing for his sanity that he’s escaped you.”

Tony clings to the escape Rhodey’s offered. “Honeybear, I knew you loved me so – ”

“Uh, hi.”

Tony whirled around in his chair so fast his neck cricked. Oh, God must be laughing somewhere now, because Steve Rogers is standing right _there_ with one cup of something smelling suspiciously like coffee and Rhodey’s voice is repeatedly demanding ‘ _Tony? Are you there? Do I need to call Peggy?’_ over the phone that is now clutched uselessly in Tony’s right hand.

“Yeah, uh, gotta go, Rhodey,” Tony quickly says. It’s safer to deal with Rhodey first than think about the possibilities of what Steve heard. Rhodey’s telling him it’s unfair to just hang up like that, but Tony does it anyway. He’ll send a fruit basket to Rhodey’s address. A fruit basket with an obnoxious doll.

“You didn’t have to hang up,” Rogers tells him.

Tony squints at him. “How much of that did you hear?”

“None of it,” Steve defensively answers as Tony holds in a sigh of relief. “I just saw you from Bruce’s lab. It’s early but he likes some chai tea in the morning.”

Indeed, the glass doors connecting Tony’s lab to Bruce’s is open and there’s a to-go paper cup on the main table that wasn’t there when Tony last checked. “What do you want?” he settled on asking.

“I think we keep getting off on the wrong foot and it’s my fault.”

 _Wow_ , Tony marvels. Pepper’s voice in his head is telling him to not offend Steve any further. “Sit. Your shuffling is giving me a headache.”

To his credit, Steve doesn’t take the bait and just frowns as he quietly sits on the single empty chair across the worktable. His eyes dart around at the holograms Tony has up, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Are you going to drink that coffee?” Tony asks. The scent is reminding him at it _is_ far too early to be awake.

Steve shakes his head. “Bruce told me to come over with his tea and some black coffee.”

Tony’s really grateful for Bruce. They’ve clicked like a house on fire (luckily not like a hospital on fire) and he knows that Bruce, for all his quiet and calm, can meddle even worse than Pepper. “Okay, then that’s for me,” he tells Steve, holding out a hand over the cluttered table.

“What?”

“Coffee’s not good for Bruce. Helen drinks only the sweetest monstrosities.”

“If you’re sure,” Steve says, handing the warm cup to Tony, who cradles it carefully as he breathes deep.

Tony’s content to just enjoy his coffee as his mind wanders with numbers, so it’s silent until Steve blurts out, “you didn’t have a welcoming party.”

Pausing his swallows, Tony balances the cup precariously over a stack of unfinished paperwork. “So? Am I obligated to host one?” Honestly, Tony doesn’t know whether he’s angry or just exhausted. He wishes that his past didn’t follow him around constantly, but he wouldn’t be here if not for his past, would he?

That red flush is creeping back up Steve’s neck. “No, it’s just… I think we’d have gotten along better if we didn’t keep meeting after a long day of work.”

“Well, if it helps, right now it’s _before_ a long day of work.”

Steve clear his throat. “So, uh, what’s those circles there?”

He’s pointing to the hologram that’s showing circles inside circles. Tony takes his coffee cup back in hand just to have something to hold, “making small talk, are we? It’s the thing I put in Riri’s chest. The fancy pacemaker.”

To be fair to Steve, it’s hardwired in Tony’s nature to just say things.

Steve, bless him, answers honestly. Tony doesn’t know how anyone can be as good as Steve Rogers, who somehow manages to exceed even the fanciest praises that Peggy Carter gives.

“No. Peter – my son – he’s obsessed with you. He loves science, and he loves you more than he loved Bruce during his radiation obsession phase.”

The bark of laughter that escapes Tony’s lips is involuntary. “Really?”

Something in Tony aches as it always does when he thinks of children, but he tamps it down. If he doesn't want others to drag his past around, then he shouldn't live in the past. Or at least, that's what Rhodey and Pepper keep badgering him to remember.

“Yeah,” Steve tells him, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to know what the buzz is all about.”

“In that case,” Tony smirks, half to distract himself, half because it's always entertaining to watch, “I think it’s time you met JARVIS.”


	6. Mission Launch

_**Day 29** _

It’s become habit for Steve to swing by the East Wing in the mornings now. On normal days when SHIELD isn’t packed to the brim, his routine is now: wake Peter up, make breakfast for two, and drive Peter to school. He cuts his morning jog short so he can swing by the coffee shop at the corner, eager to steal a little time of the day in Tony’s lab. Tony doesn’t seem to mind.

Sometimes they just sit in silence, Tony’s hands waving projections around the air and Steve catching up on forms he has to sign. Sometimes Tony needles Steve and they argue until either of their pagers go off and they need to rush away. It’s a bumpy road, two of them from opposite sides of history. Steve tries his hardest, though, because _God_ , Tony’s so full of energy that it’s addictive.

“Earth to Rogers,” a voice snaps Steve back to reality, and Steve finds himself face to face with Clint. “You’re unusually distracted, Doctor Rogers.”

“Need something, Clint?” Steve asks defensively. The coffee in his hand is growing colder by the second, and although he usually enjoys seeing his friends, Steve knows how truly meddlesome they can be.

Clint just smirks and moves out of Steve’s way. If Steve harboured any hope that Clint would let him go, it’s dashed when Clint cheerfully bounds after Steve. “We’re planning a party tomorrow. Think we can steal you away from Peter for an hour or two?”

That’s not the question Steve expects, but he takes what blessings he’s given. “Maybe. He has some group work with Ned. What’s the party for?”

“Well, it’s come to our collective attentions that Stark hasn’t been properly welcomed, and he’s been here nearly a month.” Clint’s smile turns predatory, “and we thought you’d have a personal interest in coming.”

 _Why did I think I could get away easy?_ Steve ponders. “There’s nothing going on between us, Clint.”

“Not just a river in Egypt,” Clint mutters. Then, more loudly, “you’ve been through a _very_ long dry spell, Rogers. Heard that Stark’s _really_ good.”

Steve really wishes he didn’t flush that easily. He should be accustomed to Clint’s blatant disregard for propriety by now, but he really can’t control his reaction to those thoughts. “If you’re interested in finding out yourself, I could pass on the message,” Steve quips back.

“Nah,” Clint denies easily. “You’d be too jealous. Does he know about Peter?”

Giving up any pretence, Steve lets Clint follow him all the way to the labs. “He wants to meet Peter, but I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Take your time, old man,” teases Clint. “You shouldn’t deny Peter the chance to meet his hero just because you’re harbouring a really _hard_ time with the guy, though.”

“Is this Natasha’s plan, now? Using Peter to get me to make a move?”

Clint gives him the most brazen grin. “Nope, that’s just an added bonus.”

Shaking his head, Steve huffs out a laugh. His friends were really in need of a mental check-up. “It’s complicated. He’s a nice person, but Peter’s my son, and Peter will _definitely_ attach himself to Tony. So if they meet, I just want to be sure I want Tony around him.”

“Hmmm,” Clint hums noncommittally. He’s on his phone, typing something rapidly as they round the corner.

Steve’s long given up trying to figure out the quirks of his friends. Speeding up his steps, he hopes to gradually lose Clint. The coffee will really be cold by the time he reaches Tony’s lab, and he’s got early appointments today. Of course, that’s exactly when Clint pockets his phone and jogs to catch up to Steve.

“I need Tony to look at my hearing aids.”

“You could always do that later,” Steve tells Clint, crestfallen and nervous at knowing he won’t be alone with Tony this morning. Sure, there’s usually at least Bruce or Helen already in by the time Tony arrives, but it’s different because they won’t tease. Or, if they do tease, it’s not persistent and it doesn’t lead to rumours spreading like wildfire.

“Also,” Clint goes on as if he didn’t hear Steve (Steve knows better, Tony’s tech is the best of the best), “Natasha says it’s the height of entertainment seeing the both of you squabble, and Thor wants details.”

Sometimes, Thor can curb Clint’s inhuman inhibitions. Other, less fortunate times, Thor’s enthusiasm for… life in general can amplify Clint’s impulses. Lately, Thor, who’s on sabbatical volunteering in the Indonesian mountains, has been hungry for the gossip going on at SHIELD. When his girlfriend, Jane, who came with him to set up a makeshift observatory in the equatorial mountains, is busy gazing at the stars, Thor spends his hours on his phone badgering their group and personal chatrooms. Thor’s especially excited to meet the mysterious Tony Stark, who he believes has persuaded Steve to elope. Clint is more than happy to fuel _those_ rumours.

Thankfully, or not thankfully, they finally reach the double glass doors of the lab complex. Steve can see Tony hunched over a magnifying glass, and he unclips his ID tag to swipe it on the little scanner Tony installed just last week. _I need insurance that I won’t be bothered by pests, interns, and clueless attendings_ , Tony told Steve when he had to spend five minutes dancing in front of the doors trying to catch Tony’s attention. It was Bruce who eventually saw him and let him in.

“Fancy,” Clint says, eyes darting around the lab with childish glee, “Pierce had a dreadful taste in décor.”

Silently, Steve agrees. All the red octopuses swimming in aquariums which used to line the walls had thankfully gone with Pierce.

Slowly, Steve walks over to Tony’s table to place the now only lukewarm coffee cup down just at the corner of Tony’s sightline. He knows better than to surprise the man. The less said about the jacket he’d been forced to burn, the better.

Tony looks up, blinking. “Hey.”

“Hey, To – ”

“Stark, tomorrow, 8 o’clock. You free?” Clint cut in, body leaning on Tony’s table and hands fiddling with one of the forceps lying around.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want any pests in this lab, Rogers,” Tony says, a hint of mischief in his eyes. Steve can’t stop the snort of laughter that bubbles up. “And that depends on what you need me for.”

“Well, we want to try de-fossilise your coffee delivery boy and you,” Clint smirks, pointing an accusing finger at Tony, “haven’t been properly inducted into SHIELD.”

“Oh?” Tony asks, pulling off his safety glasses and reaching for his coffee. The soft moan that Tony lets out as he gulps it down leaves Steve distracted enough that he forgets to protest against Clint’s words.

“You aren’t even in our little group chat yet,” Clint pouts. “You’re only in the boring admin groups and you won’t be getting any juicy stuff there. Here,” he says, shoving his phone into Tony’s face, “give me your _real_ number and I’ll hook you up in the group chats actually worth reading.”

Tony seems truly surprised at the offer, as if he can’t believe that Clint wants to add him to their social circle. Steve can see as Tony quickly covers it up. “Your hearing aids might have been out of date, but at least your phone’s a StarkPhone.”

“Yeah. Now, number.”

Dimly, Steve wonders how Clint could possibly know that Tony has multiple phone numbers. Did Tony give Steve the work number or the real number? Does it even matter which one Steve got?

“How’d you know I have another number?” Tony asks, studying Clint as if trying to see if Clint can be trusted.

“Get ready for a lot of bird memes,” Steve tells Tony to spare him the trouble of trying and failing to figure Clint out. That seems enough for Tony, who starts typing into the hone. It takes a lot of control for Steve to not peek at the number.

Clint hums in a way eerily similar to Natasha. “You rich eccentric types always have more than one number. Plus, the replies from your number are too polite.”

At that, Tony laughs and hands back the phone to Clint who takes it greedily. “I made sure you can’t change my name,” Tony smugly tells him as Clint groans.

This time, Steve _does_ peek. He’s gratified that it’s the same number Tony gave him, and amused because Tony’s saved himself as ‘ _Your Favorite Genius Billionaire_ ’.

“So,” Clint goes on without missing another beat, “party. Yay or nay?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Tony says.

Steve makes a mental note to find out why Tony sounds so half-hearted. He sees Clint fist pump and hears him say, “I’ll text you the details, I’ll know if you scammed me with a fake number.”

“No, you won’t,” Tony hollers at Clint, who’s now bouncing to the door.

“Wait, Clint!” Steve calls, and that’s enough to make Clint turn on his toes, one eyebrow raised in question. “I thought you wanted to have Tony check on your aids?”

Clint snorted, “I can hear where your blood is rushing to just fine, Stevie.”

The sound of Tony’s laughter warms Steve through the day, and when Tony asks if he’ll see Steve at the party tomorrow, despite all his doubts and fears, Steve finds himself saying _yes_ without another thought.


	7. Midnight Dreams

_**Day 29.5** _

“Dad?”

They’re curled up in Peter’s bed, Steve bending his legs to squeeze in. It’s fifteen minutes past Peter’s normal bedtime, but Steve wants to have these moments with his son. Work has been busy lately: although the flu season is beginning to wane, there’s been high-profile surgeries requiring Steve to be present throughout. Peter never begrudges him the time spent at the hospital, and yet there’s always a heavy guilt in Steve every time he asks one of his friends for help to watch over Peter for the evening.

“Hmmm?” Steve asks, running his hand through Peter’s curls as Peter tucks himself even closer into Steve’s chest.

“Why aren’t you married?”

Steve’s fingers freeze, and Peter pulls away to look at Steve, a frown on his little face. Unable to bear the look of discomfort, Steve pulls Peter back towards him.

“Why are you asking?”

In his arms, Peter shifts around. “I just… _really_ like MJ.”

 _Oh_ , Steve thinks, and he tries his hardest to hold back the chuckle bubbling in his chest. It’s endearing, but scary too because _wow_ , Peter’s growing up. MJ is an extraordinary girl, polite to those she respects (Steve’s gratified that he’s one of those people) and downright savage to those who try to encroach her territory, with a whiplash wit to match the brawn in her fists. Steve understands why Peter would be drawn to her.

The right words are both easy and hard to come up with.

“I’m still looking for the right partner. And you’re getting bigger every day, but your whole life is ahead of you, pumpkin. Maybe MJ _is_ the one for you, then you’re lucky to have met her early. I need you to wait a few years, though, Petey.”

Peter lifts himself off Steve’s chest. “Why?” he asks in an earnest voice.

“Because,” Steve carefully says, taking Peter’s small, small hand in his, “your grandma Sarah would have my head if I let you go about giving roses at your age.”

A part of Steve expects Peter to complain that he’s not young, and that part sighs in relief when Peter’s sufficiently distracted. “Tell me a story about grandma,” his little boy pleads around a yawn.

It’s another twenty minutes before Peter falls asleep to a story about how Sarah Rogers chased away local bullies with little more than a saucepan and a medical syringe. For a moment, Steve lets himself ache as the pang of grief chokes him. The weight of Peter against his chest is comforting enough that Steve’s breaths eases soon after.

When it does, Steve takes his phone from the bedside drawer, smiling briefly at Peter’s framed robot drawing. His fingers hover uncertainly above the letters until he finally types, pressing ‘ _GoogleSearch_ ’ before he can talk himself out of it. While the layout is foreign, Steve feels it would be crass to use _StarkSearch_ to look _this_ up about the man himself.

There’s dozens of dozens of articles on Tony’s days as an alcoholic and addict. More recent blogposts write detailed essays on how Tony’s secretly hiding his addictions, on how his gig as a doctor is nothing more than a coverup for some unknown, unforgivable sin that kicked him out of his company. Steve knows they’re false. No one can be _that_ good of an actor to feign the honest light in Tony’s eyes as he invents, as he uses his inventions to save lives. In the one month that Tony’s been in SHIELD, he’s saved at least twelve lives who wouldn’t have been able to see another day, revolutionizing the medical world twelve times over.

The more Steve reads, the more his heart wars against himself. The first time he searched for Tony Stark that first night he met the man, he’d stopped at Wikipedia. Steve had heard enough about the man’s inventions, and was overwhelmed to discover the other side to Tony’s life. As far as Steve knew, Peter only understood the genius part to Tony Stark, and as much as Steve tries, he can’t stop thinking about the Stark car crash and Tony’s deceased fiancée.

Steve is just about to close all his tabs when a link at the bottom of his screen catches his eye. ‘ _Stark Repents? Proof that Sobriety is Not Just an Act_ '. It’s written only two hours ago. Sure enough, there’s a picture of Tony wearing sunglasses and the same clothes Steve saw him in just this morning. The article doesn’t shed much light on Tony, only repeating cruel, mindless gossip. It is, however, enough for Steve to connect the dots.

Tony had resented it when Steve pointed out that Tony didn’t have a welcome party, and earlier today Tony seemed less than enthused at Clint’s suggestion. Steve thinks Tony would have wheedled his way out of coming if he hadn’t been so surprised at Clint’s friendly openness in welcoming him into their little group.

Looking down at Peter sleeping soundly in his arms, Steve presses a lingering kiss into the soft, brown curls. He doesn’t know how Tony went through losing a partner and a child all at once. Steve had barely been able to cope with his mother’s loss if not for Peter.

Then, deleting his search history and bringing up his chat with Clint, Steve starts typing.

* * *

“Pep, Pepper, light of my life.”

The huff that comes from JARVIS’ speakers makes Tony smile. On the hologram, he can see Pepper straining not to smile too.

“You didn’t burn down any labs today, Tony?”

“I behaved,” Tony sniffs. “You and Rhodey are always so suspicious. Don’t you trust me?’

“No,” Pepper says drily, her eyes looking past Tony. “You’ve made my suite a _mess_. Do I need to come over there myself?”

When Tony agreed heartily to leave Stane Hospitals, he’d been faced with the problem of where to live in New York. The mansion held too many ghosts of his parents. The penthouse at New York’s Stark Tower was too full of Rumiko and… and other ghosts. Pepper, whom he would never be able to repay, pointed out that she still had a discreet penthouse the press didn’t know about from the days when Stark Industries headquartered in the city.

Tony hadn’t bothered to unpack much, only cared to set up his bots, JARVIS, and a cluttered makeshift workshop. Most of the clothes he brought were still neatly folded in the boxes Pepper prepared. SHIELD was wonderful in that Tony never had to dress up fancy. Except, it seemed, for tomorrow.

“No,” Tony tells Pepper with a pout. “They’re planning a party for me tomorrow and I couldn’t just turn them down.”

Pepper knows his struggle, and her eyes soften. “You _do_ need to make friends, Tony. I thought you liked Bruce?” Then, because Pepper is just like Rhodey, “and I know you finally met Doctor Rogers. You’ve been holding out on details.”

Groaning, Tony thunks his head on his work table. He hears Pepper prodding at him, and decides its worth all the needling if he can get advice for tomorrow.

There’s been something churning uncomfortably in Tony lately. A small voice in his head that sounds especially like Pepper and Rhodey both tells him that it has something to do with Steve.

“So you know how Clint – Doctor Barton, Head of Ophthalmology? – is just as loud as Aunt Peggy keeps saying?”

As Tony listens to Pepper laugh, he feels an immense sense of gratitude that sweeps away his cold bitterness. He’s lost everything, but at least, at the very least (at the very most), he still has Pepper and Rhodey.


	8. Party in the USA

**_Day 30_ **

****

Rubbing his eyes, Tony stares past the blue holograms to where Bruce is sputtering around the other side of the lab. The glass doors are closed, meaning that Bruce needs to stay undisturbed, lest the wrath of heaven descend on them all. It’s better not to tempt fate, and even a man like Tony knows when space is needed.

“J, what time is it?” Tony asks. His prosthetic design is advancing nowhere. Sure, it’s about three years ahead of current designs in the market, but when has three years been enough for a Stark? The response time is still lagging, and the mechanism designs make it hard to adapt the weight for different people.

“Twelve minutes past six, sir,” JARVIS dutifully answers.

Tony’s been fidgety the whole day. At least the party is at Aunt Peggy’s place. The beautiful townhouse she’d wrangled from Howard during a push-up bet is home to many of Tony’s fondest memories. He knows that Peggy understands well Tony’s… _issues_ , but he’s still nervous to be at any party, and the whispers that follow. Yes, he can throw up his media smile that dazzles and blinds people to the truth. Tony finds that he doesn’t actually want that, though. He truly enjoys his time with Bruce, Helen, Clint, and Natasha. A small part of him hopes that it’s a friendship that can last – a bigger part of him tamps down that flame. No one has stayed longer than Pepper and Rhodey, and why would they want to when they knew the truth?

These doctors saved lives every day, Tony’s hands were dripping red with blood that even Death wouldn’t be able to wash away. And Steve. Steve’s absence this morning made Tony even twitchier. Steve was hot and cold and just, so passionate, and Tony knew that when push came to shove, it would hurt to lose Steve.

 _God_ , he needed coffee.

“Hey J? Close down everything would you? Daddy’s going home.”

“Sir, might I remind you that you have the party in your honor at Lady Carter’s place?”

Tony pulls off his lab coat and drapes it over the only empty chair in the room, the one Steve claimed for himself. “You don’t have to, JARVIS.”

“That’s a first, sir.” There’s a note of affection in the voice. Sometimes, Tony marvels at the genius that came to him the week following his parents’ car crash, when Tony created JARVIS as he spent his days blind drunk. Sometimes, Tony wonders what possessed him to make an AI with as much snark as JARVIS (but he would be lying to himself. Tony knows exactly why).

Walking out with a huff, Tony tells JARVIS, “when he stops smashing cancer cells, tell Doctor Banner I look forward to seeing his hair down tonight.”

* * *

Steve’s just finished putting on his dress shirt and leaving Peter in Darcy’s very capable hands when his phone _pings_ with a text.

‘ _I know what you did. Thank you._ ’

It’s from Peggy. He’s about to click on it to type a reply when another message from her comes in.

‘ _Any funny business with my godson and I’ll hunt you down, Rogers._ ’

Well, Steve certainly didn’t know that Peggy and Tony were _that_ close. Being over thirty years older than him, Steve knows that Peggy was close friends with Howard Stark. Before SHIELD, Peggy had served as the Commanding General of the Army Medical Command, but she had risen through the ranks as an intelligence officer, building close ties with Howard Stark’s weapons division. As a young boy striving to be an army doctor, Peggy Carter was idolised by Steve. Even now, he can barely resist calling her _ma’am_ as he did during basic training.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Steve replies, because what else can he say? It’s the height of idiocy to even attempt a bluff at Peggy Carter.

That Peggy knows Tony so intimately makes Steve desperate to ask her his endless list of unanswered questions. Somehow, though, Steve knows that Peggy would never do that to Tony.

Picking at the button of his shirt and staring blankly in the mirror, Steve sighs. For the first time in over ten years, Steve finds himself caring how he looks.

 _This is a nightmare_ , he thinks to himself, and a voice he knows is Bucky’s is laughing in his head.

* * *

The party’s in full swing by the time Tony pulls his Audi into Peggy’s driveway. The gates, which to Peggy’s eternal chagrin (and secret fondness) had a miniature version of JARVIS installed, opened automatically for him. Locking the car and slipping on his red tinted glasses, Tony walks the short distance on cobbled stones to the wide-open main doors.

“Hey, man, you made it!”

There’s a man Tony vaguely recognises holding a champagne flute. Something in Tony wants to heave, but Tony’s had more than a lifetime of practice. Tony’s glasses scan the man, reminding him that it’s Doctor Wilson, Head of Psychiatry.

“Yeah,” flashing a too-wide smile, Tony reaches out to shake the man’s free hand. “Do you happen to know where the Director is?”

Sam shakes his head. “Last I saw her, she was with Tasha – Doctor Romanoff – and you might not want to get in between those two.”

“Ah, thanks,” Tony says, looking around the room. His glasses pick out everyone’s names, most of which he doesn’t recognize or care about. There’s Helen talking with Doctor Selvig, and Clint glaring intently at the vase of sunflowers Peggy loved to place on the center table. There’s not as many people as he expected. Only a few of the attendings are there. Tony spots the brilliant Shuri on one corner talking animatedly with Brunnhilde, hands nearly swatting a framed sketch of the Brooklyn Bridge.

 _Huh_ , Tony wonders, _that used to be where Peggy hung the fruit painting Howard hated_. It’s a hauntingly sad image, the greys of charcoal shaping the shadows of a memory from a bygone age. Tony understands why Peggy would be drawn to it, why –

“Nice to see you made it.”

“Jesus Christ, Steven, don’t jump on a man like that. I have a heart condition, you know.”

Tony’s heart struggles to slow down as he turns around to see Steve. _Jesus Christ_ , his brain murmurs again. Steve’s dressed in a light blue dress shirt that _really_ brings out his eyes and shapes his biceps and his chest and –

“You have a heart condition?”

Shaking his head to get himself to focus, Tony belatedly realises that Steve genuinely didn’t know. “I thought you searched me online? It’s on my Wikipedia, unless JARVIS went about messing with the truth again.”

Red races up Steve’s cheeks. It really is an adorable look. _No, Tony_ , Pepper’s voice chimes in his head, and Tony knows he really should listen to it, but when has Tony ever made good decisions?

Both Steve and Tony are spared any catastrophe as Peggy swoops in to press a sound kiss on Tony’s cheeks. Her red dress might make her look fearsome to any other person, but to Tony it’s a comforting sight.

“You’re not _fashionably_ late, you know, Tony?” she pokes at him. In the golden light of the chandelier above them, her greying hair fades in and out of colour.

“You had Steve to keep you company,” Tony grins back just to see the red grow darker at the base of Steve’s neck, the blond man stuffing his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunching in an effort to look smaller. There’s a small smile on Steve’s face. With extreme effort, Tony drags his mind away from any thoughts of _adorable_.

Peggy scoffs, taking Tony’s hand and dragging him to the center of the room. “No offense, but I prefer you over that blond hunk.”

Steve looks up chuckling as he follows along. Swiping two glasses off the drinks table, he attempts to hand one to Tony when Peggy slows down as they reach the table where most of the food is.

Tony’s face looks like a deer in headlights before his eyes shutter behind his glasses. “I, uh, don’t like being handed things,” he says in a small voice, as if trying not to let others hear. “Just put it on the table.”

Frowning, Steve continues to hold the glass. “I give you coffee cups all the time.”

Tony only needs to raise an eyebrow for Steve to realise. _Oh_. Steve had always placed the cup on the table. Or Tony’s Butterfingers would take it from Steve.

Just then, Peggy seems to notice the tension. With a smile that’s just a little off, Peggy reaches over to take the glass from Steve’s outstretched hand. She lifts one of the many forks from the table behind them and taps it repeatedly on the glass until everyone’s eyes turn to the three of them. Steve’s stealing glances at Tony, and Tony’s determinedly looking anywhere but Steve.

“I’m happy to announce that Doctor Stark has _not_ been abducted on his way here,” Peggy’s voice carries over as the crowd chuckles. Clint and Bucky are struggling to get their way to the front. “Some of you may have been unfortunate enough to meet him, others have been more fortunate to meet _Tony_ instead. Those who haven’t met him will be wary of him, but I assure you, I have the childhood pictures to show you that there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s a brilliant man with an even brighter heart, and it has been a joy to see him take the medical world, and our hospital, into a greater future.”

Tony has only ever known five people who could make him blush, and the only one alive is Peggy. His cheeks are hot and he wants to drink something. Everything around him are suspiciously like champagne, though. He’s itching to sneak into Peggy’s kitchen to hide from Steve’s questioning frown and steal her fruitcakes and tea.

“I hope you all are able to welcome him into our team of amazing doctors and scientists,” Peggy goes on, raising her glass. Then, she turns to Tony, her other hand pushing over a filled glass to where Tony’s hand is hanging near the edge of the table.

There’s something in her eyes that Tony’s always known to trust. So, he takes the glass, and when Peggy drinks from hers, he tips the liquid slightly towards his lips, ready to spit it back out. It’s a surprise when he tastes sparkling apple juice with a hint of blueberry, the relief and shame hitting him like a wave.

Did Peggy prepare this _one_ glass just for him? Tony harboured a hidden dread at disappointing his Aunt, and he had memorised how she used to purse her lips every time Tony held a bottle and became more and more like Howard by the day. He'd given his first AA coin to her, and he knows she keeps it in her drawer, a place of honor beside her gun. His visit to the AA yesterday was, of course, photographed. Pepper had worked a field day on the press today, but Tony knew better than anyone that it was impossible to erase anything from the internet. 

He can feel Steve's stare, the questions on the tip of Steve's tongue. Tony frantically looks around the room for a distraction, his eyes catching the wooden chair by the stairs, Natasha's red hair, the mahogany brown of the doors the - _brown eyes and long dark hair and a smile, a laugh_ \- 

_God_ , Tony prays, thinks, curses. His throat is struggling to let air in. He needs to breathe, damn it, he can't do this here, in front of everyone. _Five things I can see_ , he thinks to himself, feeling Peggy's hand still on his. He grounds himself, until his breaths come deeper.

When the clapping recedes, Tony flashes a quick smile at Steve, squeezes Peggy’s hand once, and makes himself scarce from them both. He does what he does best in these parties, making connections as he trades numbers with T’Challa, Head of Orthopaedics, gets an introduction to the Maximoff twins, who are up and coming neurosurgeons, and meets Wong, the hospital’s archive manager with a liking for Beyoncé. He talks with Bruce about stem cells and nanotech application.

All night, he uses all his considerable skill to avoid Steve like a plague. He knows the house, after all, and all the secret rooms only he and Peggy are alive to know. So when the party winds down, Tony finds himself lying awake staring at the ceiling of the room he had claimed for himself as a child. The sheets still have Captain America’s shields printed all over, from a time when Tony was insanely obsessed with the comicbook hero. He used to have a Captain A-bear-ica doll, too, before everything went to hell.

He was once happy, here.

Peggy comes in an hour later, her dress exchanged for a nightshirt and loose pants. She wordlessly sits at the edge of the bed, Tony’s hand instinctively reaching for hers. He feels so, so small.

“You left poor Steve alone all night. He was so excited, I think he came just for you,” Peggy murmurs as she strokes circles around the back of Tony’s hand.

He closes his eyes, “he would have asked me about everything, and I just. I couldn’t. I can’t – ”

Shifting around, Peggy wraps a hand his shoulder and lies down with him. “Clint was in charge of the party. I thought you’d be more comfortable having it somewhere familiar. I told him no alcohol,” she paused to turn and look Tony in the eye as he stiffened, “but of course he’d prepared some vodka to spike the punch or whatever drink he could get his hands on. Until Steve sent him a very long-worded message. You’re both so different and yet so similar, you know? The stubbornness, the loyalty, the heart. Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you? Because I am so, so proud, and incredibly, selfishly glad to have you with me.”

Struggling to hold back the feelings cresting like a tsunami over his chest, Tony squeezes Peggy’s hand like a lifeline.

She goes on, “he said he remembered you liking fruits and blueberry, and he threatened to get Clint fired if any hint of alcohol was found in the party.”

Tony’s heart hammers in his chest, loud as his breaths start feeling heavy. His words shake, but it’s Peggy, so he doesn’t try to hide. “How’d he know?”

“He cares about you,” Peggy says instead, “is that so bad to have again?”

“I still can’t sleep, sometimes I can’t think. ” Tony admits softly. “I can still feel him in my arms, the weight, his hands, his eyes. They were my eyes, you know? For that one moment I could actually feel myself loving my reflection because it was his reflection. And then. And – ” Tony’s biting his lip so hard he feels the blood seeping into his mouth.

“Oh, Tony.”

She presses a kiss against his temple, lingering and fierce. Then, as if that was the final pressure his dam could take, Tony lets his tears fall silently.

He hadn’t realised how hard it would be to move to New York again, to see the city for the first time in eight years. Tony was always excellent at bottling his feelings, and he’d never let himself grieve. He didn’t deserve the luxury of grief for the horrors that he’d done.

Here, though, in Peggy’s arms, Tony feels safe again, feels the unending forgiveness she unfailingly extends to him. Since earlier than he could remember, she had been his shield, his caretaker, his shelter. When Howard and Maria had died, Peggy was there. He'd pushed and he'd pushed with all his strength and bitterness, but Peggy was there, in Rhodey's words, in Pepper's glare. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers, because he realises he’s never actually spoken those words to her after all this time. The hurt and grief he’d caused her is heavy in his infinite list of sins.

A shaky smile forms on Peggy’s lips, somehow truer than any smile she’d given him. “I’m sorry, too.”

Tony wants to ask what on earth she thinks she needs to apologise for, but the words stick on his throat, too much, too little, too late. His breath hitches, and she holds him tighter.

They stay like that for a long, long while, Peggy weeping with him for the son he once had.


	9. Start Again

_**Day 37** _

This is how it begins. Tony’s spent the week avoiding Steve, which is easy given that he has the excuse of consulting for Stark Industries to avoid SHIELD. Pepper is pleasantly surprised when Tony submits a slew of new patents for her to market, all the way from nanotech solar cells to the next six iterations of the StarkPhone. He’s holed himself up in Pepper’s suite, where no one but Peggy knows he is.

He gets enough peace, interrupted by the pinging of his phone when Clint’s bird memes come through and Bruce’s worried messages guilt trip him into deciding to come into the lab.

‘ _Heard from the Director you’ll be gone for a week. Looking forward to having our discussions again. You still owe me for all those formulas._ ’

That last message really seals the deal for Tony. He does find himself missing Bruce, and knowing that Bruce misses him too? It’s a feeling of warmth Tony’s never been used to.

He avoids the fact that Steve hasn’t sent him a message at all. It shouldn’t matter, really. They were just friends. Anything more would end up in disaster. After the disasters Tony’s gone through time and time again, he thinks he’s had more than enough for a lifetime. He wants to fix things, not break them even worse than he already has.

So, Tony’s in the lab when it happens. Bruce isn’t in yet, and Helen’s out testing her Cradle on a man with third degree burns. The prosthetic design he was stuck on is coming along nicely at last, which calms Tony down, JARVIS fabricating a prototype in the far corner to the room.

“Sorry, is Bruce in?”

Tony freezes, breathing in deep before he swivels in his chair to face the doors, which are now open. “Pretty sure you can see from the glass that Bruce is very much no here, Doctor Rogers. The medical world hasn’t developed enough for invisibility.”

Steve blanches, his face furrowing into an even more harried look. For all of Tony’s faked glib, he feels bad for the man, and is about to ask when a little voice pipes up.

“Dad? Is that Doctor Stark? You didn’t tell me you know Doctor Stark.”

Letting his gaze travel down, Tony’s eyes land on a tuft of dark brown curls, a small, chubby face, and a shirt that has a triangle with the words ‘ _Find x! It’s here!_ ’. The boy is hiding half behind Steve’s legs, eyes wide with wonder.

“I, uh,” Steve stammers, “would you mind watching Peter for a moment? Everyone else is busy, and Bruce said he’d be happy to, and I wouldn’t impose on you like this, except there’s a girl who really needs a kidney transplant, and Peter will just sit and read one of his books, he won’t bother – ”

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony cuts through Steve’s ramblings as he walks towards the little boy, crouching down so that they’re eye level. “It’s alright, Doctor, I think we scientists will get along just fine, won’t we, Peter?”

Tony looks up, and he sees the relief flash through Steve’s eyes, followed by worry and uncertainty that’s quickly replaced again by firm determination. “Okay,” he tells Tony, “thank you. I’ve got to go. Be good for Tony, okay, dear?”

Peter nods, Steve bends down to press a quick kiss on Peter’s head, and then the blond rushes down the hallway, leaving Tony to stand back up awkwardly in front of the boy. Tony clears his throat.

“I lied to your dad. This is going to be a disaster. I don’t usually do this. I don’t do this at all,” Tony tells the kid seriously, and the boy just tilts his head to frown at Tony.

“I read that you’ve helped a lot of children, Doctor Stark.” The boy is still standing where Steve left him, so Tony ushers him inside the lab. He can see the kid itching to touch everything.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, “and they’re usually unconscious by the time I come in the room. Why aren’t you in school?”

The boy freezes, hands hovering in front of one of JARVIS’ holograms. There’s a sheepish look on his face. “Imixedacidwithpotassiumanditblewup.”

“What?”

“I, um, mixed hydrochloric acid with potassium and it blew up. The school called dad.”

Tony barks out a laugh, and Peter smiles hesitantly back. “Jesus, kid, they let you near those stuff already?”

“I’m not a kid. I’m eight point thirteen years old.”

“Well, you’re a smart one.” Then, clearing the chair that Steve used to claim every morning, Tony pats it. “Come here, I think this might go better than expected.”

Peter eagerly sits in front of Tony. His eyes roam over the mess that is Tony’s working space, his teeth biting his bottom lip as if trying to stop himself. He fails.

“Doctor Stark, did you really figure out how to make neuro-controlled nanobots? Like you can just make them go _whoosh_ just by thinking? And do they really change colour? Can they really freeze a cut to stop the bleeding? How does it even know what you want?”

It’s honestly refreshing to meet this unbridled excitement. The kid is vibrating with it, and his questions are actually good, intelligent. There’s a little hope, then, that waiting for Bruce will be less of a horror than Tony thought.

“Want to see something cool?”

Peter nods eagerly.

“But,” Tony adds, in a lower, conspirational voice, “you can’t tell your dad, and you have to call me Tony.”

The small frown on the boy’s face really looks like Steve’s. It’s amazing that Peter is adopted when they’re so similar. “I don’t like keeping a secret from my dad, and he says it’s impolite to call people their names straight away. Like, Doctor Banner is Uncle Bruce, not just Bruce.”

 _Hell, no_ , Tony thinks. There is no way he can form such an emotional bond with this kid. There is no way he can form _any_ bond with _any_ kid if his sanity and conscience were to stay as intact as possible. It wouldn’t be fair to Peter, too. Tony would keep comparing him to someone Tony didn’t even know, would keep wondering and wondering.

Luckily, Peter comes up with a solution. “Would Mr. Tony be fine, Doctor? Dad didn’t tell me if you’re an Uncle or a Grandpa.”

“You’re a little sh – shell clam aren’t you?”

There’s a wide smirk on Peter’s face, those brown eyes going wide and filling with innocence. “Weren’t you going to show me something, Mr. Tony?”

 _Good God_ , Tony thinks. “Yeah, okay, watch this.”

He pulls his sleeve up to reveal the glass face of his watch. Then, using his left hand to tap two fingers on it, Tony makes a circular, anti-clockwise motion and pulls. As the million tiny robots race up his wrist, his palm, his fingers, Tony looks up to see the unrestrained awe on Peter’s tiny face. When the glove forms completely in red and gold colours, Tony raises his palm towards Peter and lets his mind command a spark of electricity, the center of the glove lighting up in a pure white.

“Woah,” Peter gasps, his fingers reaching over the table between the two of them to brush against the tips of Tony’s gloved ones. Tony regrets for a second designing these bots to transmit feeling, because the touch of Peter’s small hands sends a shock of something through Tony that he has to struggle to contain.

“So, is there more to this than a _really_ fancy flashlight, Mr. Tony?”

Tony sputters. “I’ll have you know, young man, that _this_ is a portable EKG. Very useful for first aid, saved a few lives already.”

Peter didn’t have to know that it didn’t save the lives that Tony wanted it to, that in the wrong hands it could turn into a weapon of mass destruction, that it could scorch holes through walls and burn through flesh. There was a reason, after all, that Tony feared Obadiah Stane.

“Oh! I also heard you made an AI. Can I meet them? And your bots? Did you really make them when you were fourteen? Where are their brains? Do they have feelings?”

Tony’s taken aback. The cheer of the kid makes it really hard to be morose or bitter. Already, Tony can feel another wave of excitement crest over him at Peter’s genuine enthusiasm.

“Hey Butterfingers? Come meet Rogers Junior, here.”

When Peter teaches the poor bot how to play catch while simultaneously destroying half of Tony’s lab in the process of zooming around, Tony finds himself inexplicably smiling so wide and laughing so hard in a way he thought he’d forgotten.

* * *

Steve comes back five hours later. He finds Tony, Bruce, and Peter sprawled on the floor with a box of pizza between them, Butterfingers wearing a captain’s hat Peter folded out of Tony’s paperwork and JARVIS constructing a hologram chemistry kit.

Tony turns to greet Steve, and Steve’s taken aback by how _happy_ Tony looks, and how Peter looks so comfortable leaning against the bot’s stand.

“Thanks for taking care of Peter,” Steve says, standing awkwardly over their little circle.

“How’s the girl?” Tony asks, offering a slice of pepperoni pizza to Steve, who takes it eagerly. Bruce scoots over, and Steve gives in, sitting down with the rest of them.

Around his bite of pizza, Steve answers, “she made it. Still in the ICU, but it should be safe to move her out by tonight.”

There’s a satisfied hum from his left where Tony sits. In front of him, Peter’s looking between Steve and Tony with a contemplative look that Steve’s beginning to learn to fear.

“Dad? Can I please stay with Mr. Tony for the rest of today? I’m sorry about school, and I know you still have work.”

Something in Steve’s chest tightens and loosens simultaneously. He studies the openness he realised he’d never seen on Tony, the fondness written clearly in the crinkles of his eyes. Steve knows, then and there, that whatever Tony might have been in the past, he can trust Tony. He can trust how Tony looks at Peter as if he’s the most miraculous thing in the world.

As for Peter’s apology, well, nobody could ever say no to that pleading look of Peter’s, could they?

* * *

At the end of the day, Steve’s exhausted by the time he swings by the East Wing’s labs again. It’s nine, and he’d gotten a message from Tony two hours ago that they’d ordered in some Chinese.

‘ _Made sure Peter got his greens ;)_ _he’ll do anything to play with JARVIS._ ’

Steve had managed to text back a quick thank you before his pager buzzed again.

Bruce’s lab is dark, but Helen is hunched over her computer next to Tony, who’s balancing a sleeping Peter in one hand as his other waves about the hologram DNA sequencing hovering in mid-air.

It’s so domestic that Steve stops to stare for a while before he can compose himself enough to swipe his key card.

Tony looks up when he hears the doors slide open, the left corner of his mouth curving up slightly. “Your little guy fell asleep around fifteen minutes ago,” he murmurs in greeting. Helen gives Steve a little wave, too absorbed in equations to do anything more.

Steve walks over, holding out his hands so Tony can give Peter to him, and Peter clings tiredly onto Steve, burrowing his head into his shoulder. Tony follows them out, hands stuffed nervously in his pockets. Steve can feel the buzzing of his energy.

“Thank you so much for today,” Steve whispers.

When they’re out of the glass doors and in the deserted corridors, Tony clears his throat. “He’s really something else, Rogers. Double trouble with that brain and energy.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky to have him.”

Tony rocks back on his heels. “Well then, I, uh – ”

“Coffee? Tomorrow?” Steve bites his lips, trying to stop himself from blurting out even more embarrassing words.

There’s a small smile on Tony’s face, though.

“You know where to find me,” Tony tells him.

Underneath the bright glare of the white lights above them, the shadows on Tony’s face are chased away, and for the first time since he met this crazy, crazy man, Steve thinks that he’s finally starting to understand the _Tony_ to Tony Stark.


	10. A Dream is a Wish

**_Day 50_ **

This, settling into this new normal, it feels better than Tony ever expected his life in New York to be. He had steeled himself for days on end spent sipping tea with only Aunt Peggy for company, and while he loved spending time with her, it was always a pleasant surprise to have Clint barging in with lunch, Sam coming by to rant about Steve, or Natasha appearing out of nowhere with a tub of ice cream. Two days ago, Bucky knocked on the glass to ask for help with his prosthetic arm, which Tony scoffed at and spent two hours replacing entirely, at the price of stories about Steve.

They were army doctors together, until the explosion which took Bucky’s arm and gave Steve the Medal of Honor drove them back home, where Peggy helped them find their footing. Bucky had endless stories about Peter and how it was all karmic retribution for all the heart attacks Steve gave his poor mother. Tony had found himself forgetting time as they talked, enjoying himself so thoroughly he could feel the beginnings of home form around the glass panes of the lab.

He’s desperate to hold onto this for as long as he can, he’s missed this easiness in life. Some part of him still believes that he doesn’t deserve anything this good. The shadow of Obadiah still lurks in the back of his mind, but Tony’s begun listening to his therapist.

So, today, when Steve comes to his lab like clockwork, Tony pushes all his doubts away, trying his hardest to just live the moments. As always, Steve’s smile is wide as he places the customary coffee cup on the table, sliding it towards Tony.

Tony is exceedingly grateful that Steve hasn’t pushed about this issue.

“Peter went to school just fine?” Tony doesn’t bother wasting time with a boring good morning.

Steve slumps into his seat across from Tony, hands cradling his cup of chocolate. “Yeah, he’s been desperate to see you again. Had to remind him that if he blows stuff up, he’s not going to get to spend time with you.”

It’s gratifying to hear how much Peter loved his time with Tony. Tony’s grief had begun to give way to an uncensured happiness around Peter, as Tony firmly refuses to let the past cast any shadow on the little boy.

Huffing, Tony grins into the rim of his cup, the warmth of the coffee seeping into his breaths. “That scoundrel of yours doesn’t need school. You should send him straight to college to give the professors hell.”

Steve gives a short laugh. Then, he sets his cup on the table, careful to avoid the mess of wires strewn there, nervously clearing his throat.

“Speaking of,” he starts saying, uncharacteristically shy for a huge hunk of muscles, “would you like to come over for dinner tonight? Only if you’re free. It’s, uh, a family thing, I mean. There’s going to be Peggy, Bucky, Tasha, Clint, Bruce, Sam. Thor’s still on sabbatical with Jane, but Phil and Darcy said they could come. I told the others not to tell you cause it’s not a big deal, I just like to spend my birthday with a few close friends, and I’d, uhm, be really happy if you could come.”

He stutters to a halt, struggling to look at Tony. That adorable red flush has overtaken his neck and cheeks, but it isn’t like Tony’s doing any better. He’s blinking at Steve with his mouth hanging slightly open, coffee cup frozen halfway to his mouth.

“I’m sorry?” Tony asks, because the words _dinner_ , _family_ , _birthday_ , and _friends_ are bouncing around in his head making no sense.

Steve’s eyes widen in horror and embarrassment. “Oh, of course, it’s alright if you’re busy. You’re a busy, busy man. A businessman. It’s fine. I just thought, I’d ask.”

He stands up awkwardly, smoothing the wrinkles in his pants. He’s about to turn away to leave when Tony’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist, pulling him forcefully back down to sit.

“Stay,” Tony commands, “I’d love to come, really, Dorito. It’s just, you _really_ had to deprive me of the chance to buy you the most ridiculous, gaudiest, expensive gift I could find?”

The tension begins to ease of Steve’s shoulder as he snorts. “That… is exactly why I asked the others to give you no warning.”

Tony squints at Steve more to make him laugh than anything, “do you know Pepper?”

It works, as Steve lets out a small laugh. “As much as I would like to meet a woman who can maintain her sanity around you, I don’t stalk people.”

“Well, you should,” Tony grins widely back, “that giant bunny incident was really something else. Hey! Would you like a – ”

“No,” Steve sternly cuts in. “No giant bunnies. There’s nowhere to fit it and Peter would insist using it as a bed.”

Tony pretends to pout, but it’s hard to fight off the irrational excitement bubbling inside him.

“Alright, Rogers,” he declares, jumping up to drag Butterfingers out of the corner and pointing an accusing finger at Steve. “I know I told you to stay. Now time for you to leave. This busy, busy man will be very busy for the next few hours, and my consultation rates have just rocketed.”

Steve raises a confused eyebrow. “O…kay? So, I’ll see you tonight?”

There’s a hopeful note to the question that makes Tony simultaneously queasy and delighted, “yeah, and I’m not a genius billionaire for nothing, Grandpa. I’ll come bearing gifts.”

It seems Steve knows Tony well enough to know when to give up.

And that’s another revelation Tony’s heart struggles to understand.

* * *

In the end, the only thing that saves Steve from a repeat of the giant bunny incident is Pepper, who somehow managed to wrangle Natasha’s number through JARVIS. Natasha had cornered Tony as he was leaving the MRI room, a long-suffering look on her face.

After that, it only took a little bit of genius, a lot of JARVIS, and a few hundred dollars to make a not-giant-bunny for Steve. And after that, Tony let himself be distracted by the question of what the hell it had all been about.

It’s not that Tony never goes all out for his friends. He once made Rhodey a weaponized flying suit of armour that’s now being kept deep under wraps by the Air Force just because Rhodey had been nicked by a bullet during a field exercise. It’s just that Tony’s known Rhodey for _decades_ , so why did he feel the urge to go through all this effort for Steve?

Would it be too much? Why did Steve also invite Tony to a goddamn _family dinner_?

Anyhow, it’s too late to back down, now. He’s standing in front of the wooden door that’s apparently Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn. _How does Steve make the trip back and forth to the hospital?_ Tony has a chance to wonder, before the door swings open to Bucky’s glowering face.

“Oh, it’s you,” Bucky relaxes, but doesn’t move aside. He pointedly looks at the big bag Tony’s carrying. “Is that a present or food?”

Tony tries hard not to crane his head over Bucky’s shoulders to see inside the apartment. “Is that a trick question?”

“Answer the question.”

“Little bit of both,” Tony relents. He’s heard stories of how protective Bucky is of Steve. It’s natural, given their past, and Tony wonders how Bucky feels about Steve asking Tony here.

The answer seems to satisfy Bucky, who moves aside with a wolfish grin. “Sam’s setting up the table. You hurt my Stevie, you’re dead and I’ll find a way to steal all your money.”

“Noted,” Tony drily replies.

The apartment is simple, but full of a sense of home that Tony’s place still lacks. There are picture frames hanging on the walls, from Peter’s crude drawings to a blurry group photo clearly taken years ago. The short entryway leads right to the living and dining space, the huge couch in front of the TV occupied by Steve, Peter, Peggy, and Natasha, who all turn around to wave at Tony. Sam and Clint are placing cutlery on the table, bickering about the size of spoons, and from somewhere to the right, where Tony assumes the kitchen to be, is Bruce’s voice telling them to finish faster.

“Glad you could make it, Tony.”

Steve’s voice is warm, burrowing into Tony’s skin and it’s too much. So, Tony lifts the bag he’s holding and says, “I’ll help Bruce in the kitchen.”

Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes and telling Tony to come with him.

“Dad, can I go with Mr. Tony?”

“You can sit next to him at dinner if you want to,” Steve replies, slinging one hand over the boy’s shoulder and pulling him tighter until Peter giggles.

Tony darts quickly away.

* * *

When dinner does happen, Steve is sat at the head of the table, Peter to his right, Bucky to his left, and Tony right next to Peter. The boy insisted, so Tony’s stuck between an entirely too intelligent kid and an entirely too perceptive Natasha, facing an entirely too happy Clint.

Phil and Darcy, Tony learns, are from NYU’s School of Medicine. Darcy is trudging her way through classes, and beneath her veil of… Darcyness, she’s brilliant. Tony can see why she’s Peter’s favourite.

Peggy’s voice cuts in, “and so _I_ got a call from MIT’s dean telling me that my godson had installed an R2D2 on the Great Dome with a _fully functioning_ buzz saw and electric pike.”

Her eyes are turned fondly on Tony as the table laughs, “and, when they tried to take the blasted thing off, Tony had apparently assembled a half-formed AI into the R2D2 that started pleading the workers so convincingly not to kill it. Tony got his third doctorate a month later with conditions that he not return to traumatise the faculty.”

“You have _three_ doctorates, Stark?” Clint asks around the mouthful of seafood risotto that Tony brought.

Peter looks flabbergasted. “Don't you read, Uncle Clint? Mr. Tony has _six_ doctorates.”

Tony smirks. “You got a problem with that, Birdbrain?”

“He hasn’t actually got an actual M.D., though,” Bruce chimes in.

Two months ago, Tony would have bristled at that. So what if he didn’t have an M.D.? He had proven his skills multiple times over that he’d gotten multiple offers for honorary degrees. Now, though, looking at Bruce’s small smile, Tony finds no malice and a world of fondness that makes his throat tight.

“But I bet you that’s just cause the med schools didn’t want to go through the same trauma as MIT,” Steve grins, sipping his soda.

Bucky rolls his eyes, wagging his fork in Steve’s face, “ _you_ have no right to talk about trauma. Peggy, remember how Steve _threw himself on a bomb_ that first day in training? Shrimpy little kid with too much attitude – don’t you dare follow your father, Pete, bad, _bad_ example.”

Tony chokes on his bite of steak, Natasha laughing as she thumps his back. “He _what?_ ”

“Yeah, so get this, Stark,” Bucky starts to say over the laughter, but Tony isn’t really paying attention.

He swallows his food, using the soda to wash it down when it sticks in his throat, because how did this happen so quickly? Tony is sitting in this table, with all these wonderful people who know each other, who are irrevocably connected with each other. He feels like a stranger, he feels like he’s known them his whole life, like he’s an intruder looking in and stealing this feeling he’s always craved. He hasn’t felt like this since the last time he’d had breakfast with Jarvis and Ana, Peggy pouring the tea and Ru leaning on him as Rhodey grumbles about asshat military commanders. He wants to catch this warmth in a bottle before it’s too late. His chest is growing tighter, and tighter.

The scrape of Tony’s chair sliding back is soft in the din of their voices, but their heads snap towards him instantly.

All the concern written clearly in their faces is too much, and Tony struggles to clear his throat. “I, um, I need some water. In the kitchen. I’ll be back.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “You better, Stark. We haven’t gotten to Steve’s cake, and I’m _sure_ my dessert will conquer your risotto as best food.”

Tony nods stiffly, walking to the kitchen in a daze. He leans against the counter, pressing his palms into his eyes. There’s a picture of Steve carrying a younger Peter in his arms, the little boy with Mickey Mouse ears and ice cream smudged across one cheek but smiling wide with all his missing teeth. It’s so sweet that Tony struggles with himself.

He can’t have a panic attack now, he can’t do that to Steve. He has to breathe. He has to –

“Tony?”

Of course it’s Steve that comes, standing uncertainly in the entrance as if Tony wasn’t standing in Steve’s own kitchen. “Peggy said someone should check up on you.”

“I’m fine, Steve, you can go enjoy your birthday. Someone else could have come,” Tony flatly says.

“Well, you’re my guest. I volunteered.”

That sets something off in Tony. _Guest_ , it’s such an impersonal word. Why had Steve invited him here, given him the chance to taste this warmth if Tony’s only a _guest?_ The sugary taste of soda in his mouth turns bitter, and Tony just… breaks.

“What are we, Steve? Are we friends, or what?” Tony can feel his voice rising, and he honestly doesn’t, cannot care. “ _God_ , I’m such an ass asking you this on your birthday, but I need to know! You bring me coffee every morning, Steven. Is that what normal friends do? Rhodey and Pepper don’t do that, or maybe I need more friends! But Bruce never does that either! Then you pick fights with me, and do your reading on me, and why _don’t_ you hate me after all that? And just storm into my lab with your kid, and then you invite me to this, this _family dinner_ like it’s no big deal? I need to know. I can’t do this again, I can’t lose – ”

That’s… that’s Steve’s mouth. Pressing on Tony’s. The corner of the kitchen counter is digging into Tony’s back and Tony can’t get any words out because he can’t breathe and _wow_ , those lips are soft and sweet and… gone.

Huh. When did Tony close his eyes?

“Sorry,” Steve says, backing away, and _no,_ that’s too much space between them, unacceptable.

Tony marches forward, grabbing Steve’s face and just pressing forward until they’re a tangled mess on the floor. Steve’s large hands are now suddenly cradling the back of his head softly as Tony digs bruises into his shoulders, wanting, desperate for more.

“How could I – _ugh_ – hate you when I – _god_ – see you saving lives and – _oh_ – holding Peter like that?” Steve struggles to say in between Tony’s hot, heady lips.

Tony pulls away to _look_ at Steve. Those blue eyes shining brighter and bright and, _oh_ , Tony realises. _Oh_ , _I love this man_. And because Tony has never been good with his heart, he chases those thoughts away with another kiss, searing away all possible thought. There’s only this, there’s no morning, just the two of them and their tangled fingers, golden strands of hair between his fingertips.

It’s blissful, this warmth, this racing heartbeat. Tony’s missed this feeling, of yielding flesh, the certainty of safety, and the pleasure of being wanted. He chases Steve’s lips, his neck, his jaw, relishing the feel of bare skin against his own, chasing, and chasing, and – 

“Dad? Mr. Tony? Are you okay?”

They look at each other, hands stuttering to a freeze and breaths heavy.

“Shit.”


	11. Ghost of Christmas Past

**_Day 50.5_ **

Everyone else had gone home after they helped clean up the mess of gift wrappings and heap of dirty plates. It was apparently tradition. Steve wanted a small celebration with family, but the family refused to let a birthday pass without showering Steve with gifts. Steve had smiled wide when he opened Bucky and Clint’s shared gift of an apron with muscular abs printed on the front, and he’d pressed Peter’s card to his chest, placing a wet kiss on the squirming boy’s cheek. Tony had been nervous when Steve reached for the plain box holding Tony’s gift for him, but the gentler, softer look that Steve sent over to Tony at the sight of rows and rows of exquisite pencils told Tony that he made the right call.

“Which one of you told him?” Steve asked, looking around the room.

Natasha only had to raise her brow for Steve to look back and take a red pencil out.

“They’re made to hold up against those ungodly biceps of yours, Rogers,” Tony had said, his usual snark failing to hit the right note.

Then, Steve had asked Tony to stay, and how could Tony refuse his blue, blue eyes?

So, they’re here now, sitting next to each other on the couch, Peter having just been tucked sleepily in bed. The little guy had wanted to stay up for longer with Tony, yet his body was tired from a whole day of excitement.

Behind the dark television, Tony can see the city lights through the large windows. A part of Tony wants to get back to what he and Steve were doing in the kitchen, but tucking in a man’s son really reminds people about boundaries and realities.

“Where’d you get that risotto?” Steve questions, both to break the silence and because it really _was_ amazing.

Tony looks down, hands fidgeting, turning his phone around and around between his fingers. “I cooked it.”

“You can cook?”

There’s space between where the two of them are sitting. Tony itches to simultaneously close it and to widen it as far as possible. In the back of his mind, he remembers reading Rumiko’s will, how her letter told Tony to be happy, if there ever was another person in the world who could make him even half as happy as she did, Tony should keep them because being alone never suited Tony. This, here, feels like a betrayal of everything.

It feels like a betrayal against Steve, too, to pull Steve into a relationship with a man he would hate if he knew the truth. And yet, when has Tony ever done anything good?

“It’s really the only thing I _can_ cook,” Tony tells him, “and I needed a distraction and needed to get you some birthday food.”

“Who taught you?”

Here’s the thing. Steve is so, so sincere. The way he asks the question, as if he truly _does_ want to know, _does_ want to get to know Tony. There’s a hope that Steve could want Tony, after all. He hears Peggy’s voice: _he cares about you. Is that so bad to have again?_

“Jarvis, he was my, uh, butler, really. But he was there more often than Howard,” Tony starts. It’s no longer hard talking about them – it’s not easy, but it spills out, cathartic.

Slowly, Steve’s callused fingers wrap around Tony’s, warm and steadying. Tony's hand stills, then, slowly, he lets his own fingers tentatively wrap around Steve's. 

“I’ve been alone since my Ma passed away, before that it used to be just me and her, and the Barnes family against the world,” Steve takes over when Tony drifts into silence. “But I wanted Peter to know what a family feels like, and I’m lucky to have friends who are wonderful Aunts and Uncles.”

Steve looks at Tony, soft and fond, and when Tony struggles for words, Steve squeezes his hand gently, asking, “you okay?”

How does Tony tell Steve, a man who is so utterly devoted to his child, what Tony did to his? He wants to tell Steve the truth, but Tony’s always been a selfish, selfish man. He wants to keep this, Steve and Peter, for as long as he can. He wonders what Steve would say if he knew how Tony spent days pressing hard on cracked ribs just to hurt himself more, scratching blindly at his own skin to feel something other than the horror of being. How Tony had left bruises on Peggy that lasted for months when he fought against her, when all she was trying to do was to save him from himself. How Peggy had to sedate him just to bring him back to the hospital, its dreadful white walls and baby cries echoing in the corridors.

He’d woken up to Peggy sitting by his bedside, the beloved bear she’d given him so long ago in her hands. _“There’s a boy who needs you, now, Tony_ , _”_ Peggy had said, grief and anger and steel and kindness mingling in her voice, _“he doesn’t have a name, and he hasn’t stopped crying for days. He needs someone. And if that someone can’t be you, then you have to decide, darling. It’s alright, I will never blame you for this. But he needs someone. I can arrange it, if you need me to. Just, give yourself a few minutes and go see the child, at least to spare the nurses the stress of him waking all the other babies up._ ”

Tony had eventually gone to the baby’s ward, the doll dangling from one hand, it’s soft fur a comfort and a cruelty. Just five days before that, the doctors had shoved the baby in his arms. For a blissful second, the weight felt perfect, and the boy had opened his brown, brown eyes to smile at Tony. Tony had smiled back at his son. _His son_. He wanted to see Rumiko, wanted to ask her if they couldn’t just name him Pumpkin because _wow_. He had a _son_.

And then the doctor spoke: _“we’re sorry we couldn’t save your fiancée. The bleeding had gone too far, her skull was too badly fractured, and the stress of the pregnancy was too much. We had to choose, and the greatest chance of survival was with your son.”_

Tony doesn’t remember much after that. He’d handed his child over to somebody, had blamed the innocent soul for taking his fiancée from him. Then he had raged and raged at himself until Peggy came. And when he saw his child again five days after his birth, Tony knew that the boy deserved better than the ruined remains of whatever Tony could offer him.

He had given the nurse instructions and placed the doll in the baby’s crib. Despite eyes still screwed shut in tears, the little hands had curled instinctively around the soft fur. Only then had the baby’s breathing began to calm down into a real sleep. Tony had wanted the boy to open his eyes one more time, so Tony could see him, but Tony knew in his heart of hearts that seeing the boy’s eyes for another time would mean Tony would never be able to let him go, and Tony wanted his, Rumiko’s, son to have better than that.

For all his regrets, Tony still knows that letting his son go far, far away from him was the greatest kindness he could ever do. He knows what Steve thinks, Steve had made that clear enough in their earliest meetings, and Tony’s not ready to have this fight again. Not when his heart still feels raw, overwhelmed.

So, Tony looks into Steve’s eyes, and tells him the only truth he can offer, “I used to have a son. I hope he’s as happy as Peter is because of you.”

Something in Tony’s eyes must be enough to make Steve not push for any more from Tony. Instead, Steve moves closer to rest his head on Tony’s shoulders.

“Peter’s happy because of you too, you know?” Steve murmurs.

Tony doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

They stay like that for a long time, warming each other as they stare out into the New York skyline until, one by one, the lights go out as the sun rises golden above the horizon.


	12. Take This Ordinary Song

**_Day 71_ **

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Steve kisses the back of Tony’s head, one hand wrapping Tony’s chest from behind, the other waving a cup of coffee under Tony’s nose.

Tony tilts his head up, pressing a kiss beneath Steve’s jaw, leaning back into the warmth of Tony’s chest. It’s easy to relish these little acts of kindness. Bruce and Helen have taken to blacking out the glass panes separating their labs, unable to bear watching Steve and Tony.

By silent mutual agreement, though, they haven’t gone further than kisses. For all his promiscuity in his younger days, Tony doesn’t think he’s ready yet, and Steve wants to wait before they go any further. To Steve, it’s his heart and Peter’s that is on the line, and Tony understands.

This intimacy between the two of them is dizzying enough. Tony feels like a teenager again, heart racing from just one of Steve’s looks. Yet, it’s wonderful. He wakes up every morning looking forward to work (and Pepper spent days teasing him about that), he spends hours calling Steve at night, one of JARVIS’ holograms specially designated to channel video feed of whatever it is Steve’s doing.

Sometimes, Steve is bowed over his office table, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Other times, Peter hogs the screen, showing off his latest grades to Tony, who rewards him with details of the designs he’s current working on. Steve would just smile indulgently, and Tony’s fingers would itch to reach through the light to touch and hold.

While Tony’s given control of his company to Pepper, it’s still Tony’s name on the buildings, and between their lives, their busy schedule healing people, taking care of Peter, and handling Stark Industries, it’s hard to find time to spend together.

But they squeeze in these little moments, and it’s enough. It has to be.

* * *

**_Day 90_ **

“So you take this wire and clip it to this rod, here,” Tony patiently explains. He’s lying down on his stomach, face propped up by his elbows, the carpet of Steve’s living room keeping the chill of the floor away.

Peter is sitting cross-legged in front of him, a frown on his face as he concentrates on the mess of wires and metal. Steve is stuck at the hospital giving the new attendings under his command an orientation, so Tony happily volunteered to pick Peter up from school and watch over him for a bit. The way Peter had pushed through a sea of kids to rush to him brought a twinge to Tony’s heart, and he’d let Peter’s small hands latch onto his for the short walk to the car.

With the promise of building a robot, Peter had eagerly agreed to shower, finishing his homework in record time. Luckily, Tony always had a toolkit stashed in his car, and it had enough nuts and bolts to build a very deformed but functioning spider-bot. Peter, apparently, loved those creepy crawlers.

Steve comes home a few hours later to the sound of laughter, a robot pet he’s wholly unprepared for, his living room like a shipwreck, and two sheepish faces blinking up at him.

* * *

**_Day 107_ **

“How’s Steve?” Peggy asks as she places the plate of fruitcakes on the patio table in front of Tony.

Not bothering to hide from her, Tony lets himself smile, “I think I love him.”

Peggy hums, the look in her eyes knowing and kind. “Did you tell him yet?”

“No,” Tony admits, and then pouts, “when you said that man spews rainbows out of his mouth, I thought that you were exaggerating! But no! Have you _seen_ him with the children? Giving out free lollipops and trying to make himself smaller? And him carrying Peter like he weighs nothing?”

Laughing, Peggy snipes back, “Steve carrying _you_ like you weigh nothing, you mean?”

Tony sputters into his cup of tea.

“I’m the Director, dear, it was me who put Steve in charge of the children.”

Placing his cup back down to grab one of the fruitcakes topped with blueberry, Tony huffs. “Yes, but how did you even _find_ a man like that? He tries to open the doors for me. The _doors_. Which are automated sliding doors and therefore do not need to be opened. And he’s somehow memorised all my favorite food orders. He doesn’t even have JARVIS cheat for him, he just remembers it! You know he’s secretly started reading physics books just to try and keep up with me and Peter? He’s insane.”

When Tony pauses his rant to take a breath, he notices Peggy smiling a smile he hasn’t seen on her for years.

“What?” Tony asks a bit defensively.

Peggy closes her eyes, shaking her head slightly.

“Nothing. I’m just happy for you.”


	13. From this Ordinary Man

**_Day 121_ **

“I would like to meet your betrothed!”

Steve chokes, Clint sniggers, and Bucky rolls his eyes. Natasha smiles, “hey, Thor, how was the mountains?”

“Grand, but I suspect the man who has captured our Steven’s heart to be even grander.”

Thor’s voice rings loud in the cafeteria. His hair is longer, his skin slightly tanned. The weight that had hunched his shoulders for months after his brother’s death has lifted slightly, and his eyes are younger than they were before he left for his sabbatical.

“I’m not marrying anyone just yet, Thor,” Steve tells him.

“They’re not even shagging yet,” Bucky adds with a smirk as Thor pulls a chair from the empty table next to theirs and plops down, gazing intently at Steve.

Steve sighs, preparing himself for a long interrogation, wishing that Tony would come back from his work trip faster.

* * *

**_Day 153_ **

Tony’s place is far less fancy than Steve expects, it’s still a penthouse, but it’s cluttered and there are unopened boxes occupying the dusty corners of the place. Peter’s sleeping over at Ned’s place, so Steve has this rare night to spend for himself, and he’s really been looking forward to meeting DUM-E and U.

This slow exploration of each other, watching from one end of the hallway as Tony turns lives around just with the wonders of his mind, looking on as Tony puts the biggest smile on Peter’s face. Steve should be jealous of how quickly Peter’s attached himself to Tony, but he isn’t. He’s just so happy that the man he’s fallen faster and faster and deeper in love with shows the same adoration to his son.

Steve wonders, sometimes, what a man as extraordinary as Tony sees in a single father like Steve. Tony has an empire built in his name, and while Steve has left his days struggling for money behind – the army had paid him large amounts of compensation, and SHIELD gives him more than enough for Peter’s future each month – Steve has nothing compared to Tony.

Once, Steve had admitted as much to Tony, and Tony had looked at Steve as if he’d grown a second, biologically impossible head. Tony had said Steve was perfect, and Steve had admitted that he hated Peter’s birth parents. Steve knew he shouldn’t hate them, but Peter is his son, his sun, and what monster would choose to abandon a son as wonderful as him?

Tony had grown quiet for a moment before seemingly switching modes, going on to serenade about Steve’s very lengthy list of best qualities, so much that the flush in his ears took more than a day to recede.

Here, in Tony’s space, despite the mess scattered everywhere, Steve is in awe. He’s at the epicentre of Tony’s genius, and as he accepts a motor oil milkshake from DUM-E, Tony bouncing nervously behind the bot, Steve thinks he could stay forever.

But he has to leave, eventually.

When he does, he pins a sketch of the six of them on Tony’s corkboard. Unlike Steve’s place, there aren’t any pictures scattered around the apartment, and as he looks at his rendering of DUM-E, U, and Butterfingers playing catch with him and Peter and Tony, Steve decides it’s going to be his pleasure adding colour to Tony’s home.

* * *

****

**_Day 187_ **

“We should get away,” Tony murmurs, fingers tracing soft circles on Steve’s shoulders, “a vacation would be nice. Just you and me and Peter.”

Steve shushes him, taking Tony’s right hand and placing it on his lap, beneath the sketchbook that’s propped up on a makeshift stand. After a lot of whining, Steve had finally relented to drawing Tony. Tony didn’t realise it would be this hard to keep still.

It’s one of those rare days where they both have the mornings off, and Steve had looked at the morning sun in Tony’s face, declaring it to be the perfect light. Tony isn’t disappointed, and has no regrets gifting all those pencils to Steve.

Those steady hands – a soldier’s hands, a doctor’s fingers – they follow the curves of Tony’s jaw, the crinkle of his eyes, the rough edges of his nails, the smooth metal of his watch. Steve draws and he draws, humming silently to Tony’s chatter.

By the time they have to leave for work, the drawing is unfinished, but when Tony casts one final glance at the lines of his face, half-formed and faint and reverently traced, Tony thinks he can finally start forgiving himself through Steve’s eyes.


	14. And From this Love

**_Day 207_ **

“Do you like Captain America, Mr. Tony?” Peter asks as he unlocks the door to Steve’s apartment. The surgery Steve is doing to save a boy’s heart is experiencing complications, and Tony hadn’t been able to focus much on work, anyway.

“Yeah,” Tony answers. He doesn’t add anything about his obsession with the comicbook hero and how he always dreamed that the guy would rescue Tony from his lonely bedroom. In retrospect, Tony realises that he’s actually gotten that dream. He’s got Steve, an All-American Beefcake with a heart of gold who was once a soldier. And he’s gotten Steve, the doctor, the father, the dorky artist.

Tony wishes he could go back to the little child crying on Jarvis’ shoulders, just to tell him that one day, one day it would all be worth it. Because he would grow up to get something much, much better.

Peter flicks on the lights, a bounce in his steps. He bends down to let Bitsy – the seven-legged spider-bot – crawl up his palm. Bitsy’s legs curl underneath its lumpy body, settling down with a whirr that never fails to make Peter smile.

They end up binge watching the new season of _Earth’s Mightiest Heroes_ , Peter giggling at Tony’s commentary about the technology and Tony joining in when Peter cheers at the Captain’s shield-throwing skills.

“I have a Captain A-bear-ica doll,” Peter admits shyly to Tony when the credits roll. “Dad tries not to show it, but he doesn’t really like me watching the show.”

“Oh?” Tony asks, turning to look at Peter beside him. The kid is stroking Bitsy softly, small fingers running over bumpy curves. Steve hardly ever denies Peter anything, and Tony can’t understand why Steve would withhold this one thing.

“The doll is from my father. My birth-father. I know he didn’t want me, but he left me my bear, so he must have wanted me safe, right, Mr. Tony?”

 _Oh_. Those words struck a chord deep, deep in Tony’s soul, deeper than the wants to think of. Dimly, Tony realises that Peter’s gotten up, hears the sound of a door opening and closing. Maybe Peter wanted to put Bitsy back in its charging pod, and Tony’s grateful for the chance to collect himself alone.

Peter comes back, chattering something in Tony’s ears that he doesn’t comprehend, because suddenly Tony is staring at eyes he thought he’d never see again. Soft fur and slightly crooked nose, a red, white and blue mask strapped across his face, Tony reaches out to take the doll that Peter’s thrust in front of him.

His fingers close across familiar lumps, the ragged uniform stitched back together over and over again. He traces a seam down from the bear’s back to its right paw, remembers how he had watched, tearful, as Jarvis worked his magic to piece the doll back together and bring out a smile from Tony.

“Please be careful with him, Mr. Tony.”

Peter’s words are barely registering in his mind as his gaze flits between his long lost childhood treasure, and his… his... Peter. Someone must be playing a cruel prank on him, because he can’t imagine how this is happening right now. It’s impossible.

The numbers run in Tony’s head. It’s just. Not possible. The chances are essentially zero.

“Mr. Tony, are you okay?”

He nods shakily, forcing a strained smile and handing Peter back the doll. Gesturing for Peter to continue watching the next episode’s that is already beginning to play on screen, Tony stands up.

“I’m going to go and get us some water, okay?” he says quietly, almost surprised he can get the words out because his mind is so jumbled he can barely think straight. _God,_ Tony realises, Peter’s eyes are so brown and wide.

When Peter nods, he essentially bolts into the kitchen, struggling to maintain control of his breathing as he rests his arms against the counter. He tries to run a hundred million different explanations, a thousand permutations, but none of them are plausible except one.

Peter, was, is, the little boy, his little boy, the one he gave up, let go, abandoned all those years ago. There were proverbs about how mistakes would come to haunt you, about karma and balance, and all Tony can think of is, _please, not like this._

_Not this._

But Tony has no right to beg, does he? All the people he’s killed, the families he’s torn apart with his careless designs and willing ignorance. This is the gods above mocking him.

Tony takes a couple of quick, shallow breaths, turning around and fetching two glasses from the cabinet, pouring himself a glass of icy water, and downing it all in one go, in the hope that it would wake him up, from this, nightmare.

It doesn’t, but it does calm him down enough to control his emotions as he grabs some juice from the fridge and fills both glasses to the brim.

He’s put on so many masks in his life, it shouldn’t be hard to put on another one (but it is, it is when he knows what he’ll be forced to do for a second time).

Taking a deep breath before re-entering the living room, Tony stares at his – Peter, who is still engrossed in the show. He hands Peter his juice and sits quietly down on the edge of the couch, trying to focus his thoughts while pretending to watch the movie.

Two episodes pass before Tony knows it, and when the credits roll again, Peter switches off the television, telling Tony that he’s changing into his pajamas to go to bed. Tony blankly checks his phone, realising that it’s past nine o’clock. Steve said he’d be home before ten.

Tony’s knees are weak, but he forces his legs to steady as he heads into Peter’s room to check on him before he falls asleep.

Bitsy is resting on the nightstand, and Peter is already wrapped up in his dark blanket, yellow shooting stars sewn innocently on it. The bear is nowhere to be seen, most likely tucked away in a secret hiding spot reserved for his most prized treasures.

The thought brings Tony pain and comfort that Peter doesn’t seem to hate his birth parents, to hate the man who left him crying alone in a cold hospital room.

“Thank you for taking care of me tonight Mr. Tony,” Peter says, yawning sleepily, and Tony clenches his jaw, forcing another tight smile.

“Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Tony.”

With that, Peter curls up even further into his sheets, and within minutes, the even rising and falling of his body with each breath signals that he's asleep. Tony steals these last moments, lingering on the unruly curls of hair peeking out of the sheets. 

_Those curls are Rumiko’s_ , Tony realises, but the brown sheen to them is his, just like Peter's eyes are his. 

He has no claim over Peter, though, no right to call Peter his. He gave that up years ago.

“I love you,” Tony breathes out in the barest whisper.

And then, “I’m sorry.”

He forces himself to look away, bending to quietly shut off the bedside light and flick the night light on, before making a quick exit from the room.

Tony isn’t sure how he should be reacting in a scenario like this, to his world coming crashing down so brutally, without any fix in sight. He wants to laugh, because for all of Tony’s skill and genius, he never had been able to fix the things that mattered most.

He thinks for a moment that he could call Rhodey or Pepper or Peggy but dismisses the thought. What would they say anyway?

What would you do if the adopted son of the man you were dating, happened to be the same boy that you gave up over eight years ago?

He’s sitting on a stool in Steve’s kitchen, having made sure to clear away all remnants of the night – the sticky glasses stained with juice are washed and drying on the rack.

What is he supposed to do now? He doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t regret the decisions he made, he had his reason, but Tony’s always been a futurist, and no outcome he can think of leads to anything good for him.

 _It’s okay_ , Tony supposes, he’ll just be getting what he deserves. But a larger part of him is cracking, tearing apart irreversibly.

He stares at the picture of Steve and Peter. He wants this, whatever it was that meant Steve in the mornings and nights struggling to sleep because he’s smiling so hard, Tony wants these past months to not end.

He would beg, if he could, but he knows he can’t. He knows Steve will be so angry when he finds out. Tony just knows it, he knows it as deeply as he has grown to love Peter, to love Steve.

The tone in Steve’s voice when he had spoken to Tony about Peter’s birth parents was one of pure anger, maybe even hatred. When Steve finds out, this will all be over, and Tony’s realistic enough to know that much.

Tony has to tell him, Tony has to find a time to tell him. When he clears his head and sorts his priorities out, he'll tell Steve. Apologise. Ask for his forgiveness, for Peter’s forgiveness and hope that they won’t hate him for this.

He doesn’t hope for anything more than that. Doesn’t actually hope to be forgiven, Tony just thinks he wouldn’t be able to survive it if they hated him as much as he hated himself.

He’s so engrossed in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice the key turning in the lock, or Steve calling for him as he enters, panicking when he doesn’t receive a response.

“Tony? Are you alright?”

When he looks up, Steve’s only a couple steps away from him, and before Tony can react, push him away, Steve has his arms around Tony, hands soothing as Tony tries his damn hardest not to tremble against his chest.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Steve whispers over and over again, and each time he speaks it hurts a little more.

Tony pulls away from Steve and Steve catches his arm, his other hand cupping Tony’s cheek to stare into his eyes, concern flooding his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

Tony should tell him. He should cut his losses and just make it a clean break.

But Tony hasn’t had anybody look at him like Steve is doing right now, with pure devotion and concern, as if he’d go to the ends of the world to fix whatever’s gotten Tony into such a twist.

Tony can’t tell him now.

He can’t.

“I’m just not feeling too well.”

Steve hates secrets. Steve hates lying. Steve hates Peter's birth parents, which means he inadvertently hates Tony too.

Steve’s eyes widen, worried expression crossing his face as he places a hand on Tony's forehead to check for his temperature.

“I’m just going to get a cab home.”

Steve wants to protest, Tony can tell, but Steve can see that Tony doesn’t want to speak about it. 

So, he simply takes Tony’s hand in his and guides him to the door, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Get home safely,” Steve whispers.

Tony wants to say: _This is the only home I want_.

He wants to plead: _I'm sorry_.

He wants to cry: _I love you_.

But he can't.

So, Tony just nods, swallowing hard.

The door that closes softly at his back echoes coldly through his bones.


	15. Whatever Remains, However Improbable

**_Day 215_ **

Tony beautifully avoids Steve for a week. In other words, he bribes Pepper into feigning an emergency work trip on the other side of the world. The five days he spent in Japan did nothing to clear his mind. He’s still a jumble of emotions he can’t name, doubt and guilt and dread warring in his heart.

Objectively, he knows that emotions are just neurons firing chemicals around his head. Subjectively, he craves someone who understands, someone who he can talk to without reprimands, without pity.

It’s why Tony finds where he is now, sitting in Peggy’s hospital office at an ungodly hour in the morning, picking the locks to collapse on one of her plush armchairs, waiting for her to come in. He _could_ have gone to the townhouse, but the brick and stone holds too many memories for him to be able to bear right now.

Tony knows he looks as ragged as he feels. Leaning back, he lets his head sink into the softness. He hasn’t properly slept in days, and a needs a coffee, but these days, coffee means Steve, and the mere thought makes him ill. Closing his eyes, Tony sighs.

“Oh, Tony.”

He blinks his eyes open. Peggy is crouching in front of him, one of his hands in hers. Glancing at the clock on her desk, Tony vaguely realises that he’d slipped into a short sleep. It does nothing to refresh him, weary as he is to his core.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Tony looks at her, this woman who has sustained him, who’s held him even when he thought he hated her, who’s forgiven him all his sins, more forgiving than God and more enduring. A wave of gratitude crashes over him, and it’s the last battering that his crumbling walls can take.

Peggy stands, moving to lock the door and draw down the blinds.

When she comes back, Tony lets her hold him in her arms as he confesses, and she, as always, understands and accepts him.

* * *

Being alone is suddenly such a foreign feeling. Steve has the afternoon free from any patients, and he’s waiting at home for Peter’s extracurriculars to finish. Usually, Steve would find himself in Tony’s lab, filling his time with the light of Tony’s thoughts as he uses his pencils to try and capture brilliance on paper. But Tony isn’t answering any of his texts. Most likely, he’s stuck in another of his meetings with the investors he always complains about, who are too stupid to see the genius of his ideas.

Steve smiles. He guesses he could use this time to clean up the house. Having found his old passion reignited, there’s suddenly a slew of sketchbooks littering the house, filled with small sketches of Tony, Peter, his friends, patients he remembers. He needs to find somewhere to keep these, so that they’re safe from the messes that result from Tony and Peter’s experiments that he’s given up from attempting to stop.

As he clutters around the apartment, he folds a shirt of Tony’s that he left two weeks ago, and carefully moves aside a suspiciously glowing jar he thinks is an ongoing test Tony forgot about. Then, he digs through the drawers in his room, searching for some free space to place his filled sketchbooks.

Steve realises that a lot of junk has gotten in gradually, and gets sidetracked sorting through old scraps of paper he once deemed important enough to keep. Some news paper clippings get put in a growing ‘trash’ pile, but other things, like photographs he never got to frame, get put in a new pile. _God_ , he traces the small face of his mother, captured with her tongue sticking out at the camera, Steve finds himself smiling at these rediscovered treasures.

Eventually, he reaches the bottom of the pile –

and he freezes.

The envelope is slightly yellowed. Steve remembers a time when it was stark white, crisp and new, handed to him by the nurse in charge of the incubation ward. _From his father_ , she had said, handing it to Steve as Peter’s small, small fingers hand clung to Steve’s pinky, his other small hand clutching a bear. For many time in the first year, Steve had been tempted many times to throw the letter and doll away, but he couldn’t do that to his son, and at time, the bear was the only thing that had allowed Steve a peaceful night’s sleep.

He turns the envelope slowly in his hands, noticing for the first time that it isn’t sealed. There’s a terrible temptation in Steve to open it. Peter isn’t the only who has been curious about his birth parents all these years: Steve had wanted to put a name, a face to those that had been cruel enough to abandon their own child.

The writing in black ink on the front simply reads _To My Son_ , in blocky capital letters that feel distantly familiar. Peter had told Steve that he wanted to know, not because he loved Steve any less, but because he wanted to understand them, to get closure instead of always wondering.

A part of Steve wants to know, too, to see the contents of the envelope, and another part doesn’t. That part wants Peter to forget that he’s adopted and just be happy with him; but it’s incredibly selfish and he can’t do that to Peter.

He almost can’t believe his actions as he slips a finger beneath the flap, lifting it up and out of the back. If he tilts the envelope now, whatever is inside will come sliding out, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to see it or not – but that isn’t the issue. Whatever is inside is marked clearly for Peter, and it’s like he’s betraying him by doing this.

Steve stops himself in time, swallowing hard as he holds the envelope in mid-air. Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Steve flings the envelope away towards the floor, closing his eyes. He wants Tony’s steadying presence, wants the calm that comes with the sound of Tony’s breaths.

When he opens his eyes, his heart stutters. The envelope has flown open, the contents thrown out. There are two pieces of paper, Steve distantly notices. He picks up the one folded several times, can see the shadow of the words written on the other side and forces himself not to read. Gingerly, he puts it back in its envelope, the crinkling of paper loud in the silence of the room.

Then, he bends to reach for the other piece, smaller, and heavier. He can feel the shiny surface beneath his fingertips. He realises that it’s a photograph a split second after he turns it around his hands, but it’s too late to unsee the image ingrained on the other side.

He feels as though his everything is being ripped apart right in front of his very eyes, because the man in the photo, Peter’s birth father, is someone he recognises well, too well.

And the weight of his entire world crumbling down upon his shoulders breaks his heart before his mind, his fingers tightening around the smiling image of a younger, but unmistakably, Tony Stark, arms thrown around a beautiful woman, who is also clearly frozen in joy.

He remembers asking Peggy for pictures of a younger Tony, how she said he could find plenty on the internet and how he’d replied right back that none of them were truly Tony. None of them had Tony truly happy.

Steve, hysterically, thinks that he should have been careful what he wishes for.


	16. A Good Man

**_Day 216_ **

Steve had tried to call Tony. He kept reaching JARVIS’ pre-programmed voicemail. By the time he has to pick himself up for work and drive Peter to school, Steve is sleep deprived and worn out. The thought that Tony, the man he was considering to spend the rest of their lives with, is harbouring this secret is too much for him to take. The only thing keeping him awake is the rage that’s boiling hotter and hotter every second in his chest. How _dare_ Tony do that to Peter?

Did Tony know from the very beginning? Or did he only realise after and decided to keep up the charade? But how could Tony _not_ know from the beginning? JARVIS is an AI more advanced than anything, it wouldn’t be hard to see through every nook and crevice of Steve’s life, of Peter’s dreams and wishes. Suddenly, it’s no surprise that Tony knew how to get along with Peter so quickly.

Steve has always wondered why someone like Tony would want to be with someone like Steve, and he realises that now he knows.

Now, he understands.

And he’s going to let Tony know.

* * *

“She’ll live,” Tony tells the tearful parents. Usually, he gets a sense of joy, of pride, but he doesn’t.

He’s tired, he’s tried to turn his life around, but it’s not enough, it will never be enough no matter how many lives he saves, he’s still the Merchant of Death. Tony walks away, unable to share in the relief of the family. He’s tired of avoiding Steve, too, of harbouring secrets.

Tony just needs to find the right time to tell him. There must be a way that his mind can come up with to ease Steve into it. Nothing is impossible, right?

The last thing Tony wants is for Steve to –

“Tony!”

Steve is storming down the hallways towards the waiting area. Some voice in Tony tells him to flee, but he’s rooted to the spot. Everyone else is glancing curiously at them.

Steve is angry.

It’s too late.

Steve reaches Tony and hauls him by the shirt to the nearest wall, slamming him against it. Tony claws uselessly at the hem of his shirt.

“You manipulative…” – his words trail off but Tony knows how that statement would have ended had Steve been anyone else.

It hurts.

Tony’s known pain intimately, but this, this is a new kind, deeper, sharper, crueller.

“How dare you just waltz back into his life? How dare you come here like this, after leaving him?”

Steve’s voice is growing louder, and they’ve attracted the attention of anyone within a hearing range. Tony doesn’t want to defend himself, but he knows Steve, knows that Steve will regret this public outburst later.

“Please, Steve – ” he tries to say.

Steve cuts in, cold and bitter. “You know, I thought we met by fate. I thought I loved you.”

Tony can’t breathe. He’s back in the car, with Rumiko, but now it’s Steve bleeding next to him.

“I should’ve known. Why you were so evasive, you wouldn’t tell me anything about your past, why you took every opportunity possible to spend time with Peter.”

From the edges of his dazed vision, Tony notices the nurses and residents escorting people away. He thinks the flash of red he sees is Natasha’s hair, but he can’t be sure. He tries to reach up to Steve, but Steve slaps his hand away.

Sometimes, Tony forgets how strong Steve is, and he’s reminded forcefully, now. His hand pulses. It will bruise badly tomorrow, Howard won’t like that, usually he’s careful not to hit where it shows –

Wrenching himself from his jumbled memories, Tony tries again. “Steve, can we take this somewhere private?”

A flash of something dangerous flashes in Steve’s normally kind eyes. “Embarrassed now are we? Don’t want the world to hear your dirty little secret? Well too bad. You left Peter all those years back, and you have the _audacity_ to try and come back into his life now?”

Tony’s ears are ringing, he needs Howard – Steve – to let go so he can breathe.

“Do you know how many times he's asked me about his real parents? How I had to lie, because I couldn’t tell him that his parents didn’t want him?”

“Let me explain,” Tony pleads, even as he knows that Steve won’t let him.

Their eyes lock, and Tony feels sick at the revulsion, the hate that he find written clearly across Steve’s face.

“You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to do anything. I don’t want you around him, around me. We’re through.”

Tony’s mouth opens, then closes uselessly.

“You stay the hell away from us,” Steve roars, hands curling even tighter on the hem of Tony’s shirt. “You stay away from Peter.”

Tony doesn’t speak, his eyes just blazing with something Steve can’t read. And how had Steve not seen how similar his eyes were to Peter’s?

They stare at each other, tension crackling as people stare.

Suddenly, Steve notices Natasha’s fingers hovering over Steve’s fist.

“You need to calm down,” she says, her voice a practiced softness. “Let go,” she tells Steve, and Steve lets go of Tony, the other man sliding down the wall and rubbing at this chest.

Natasha meets Steve’s gaze fearlessly. For a second, neither of them back down.

Then, Steve huffs. He turns around and stalks away from them both, pushing past the small crowd that’s gathered.

He knows why Natasha chose to defend Tony, but it feels like a betrayal all the same.

And Steve’s heart has had enough of betrayal.


	17. The Mosaics of Our Souls

**_Day ???_ **

Tony’s lost count of everything. He feels like he’s just floating through life. He works, tries to sleep, and works some more, and endless cycle on repeat.

Pepper and Rhodey call Peggy when Tony doesn’t answer any of their calls. He itches for something to drink, something to forget, but Peggy had moved in temporarily to Tony’s place, hellbent on taking care of him. After all this, he doesn’t want to hurt her even more.

Peggy and Natasha are the only friends Tony has left in the hospital. Those who aren’t outright hostile to Tony choose to avoid him to stay in neutral ground, and those in neutral ground still largely side with Steve, having known the man for longer.

It makes work hard. Surgeries are incredibly awkward, and the whispers following Tony are cruel. As much as Peggy tries to stop them, Tony asks her not to. He doesn’t want her to use her hard-earned position like that.

Natasha helps, though. She brings him food at pokes at him until he eats at least a few bites, and makes a point to walk with him because no one dares to cross her. In one of his more lucid moments, he asks here why she’s helping him, and she answers with a faraway gaze that she understands what it is to have to make the hardest choices. She tells him of a faceless man, and of her infertility, and Tony pulls her in for a hug, and they clutch onto each other like a lifeline.

What Tony wants is to talk to Steve. It’s well proven that Tony doesn’t get what Tony wants. After the first twenty missed calls, Tony realises that Steve’s blocked his number.

Using JARVIS to break through would be laughably easy, and in his most desperate moments he nearly does it. The knowledge that Steve would forgive him even less is the only thing that stops Tony.

In the end, it’s another little boy that forces Steve to see Tony again. The boy’s heart fails in the middle of surgery, and Tony’s tech is the only hope.

So Tony scrubs in, the arc reactor glowing in his palm, and they do the surgery in cold silence. The attendings cautiously skirt around them both. Just days ago, Tony would have flirted with Steve as he pointed out details to the aspiring doctors, reminding them of the wonders of science and medicine.

Now, he realises that neither science nor medicine has advanced fast enough to cure the pain that grows with every breath in Tony’s chest.

The surgery goes as well as can be hoped. The boy will live to see many more years.

They’re washing their hands in silence when, against all expectation, it’s Steve who breaks the silence.

“Peter is my son. Not yours.”

There’s the tiniest part of Tony that wants to point out that had Rumiko not given birth, had Rumiko survived, they wouldn’t be having this discussion, but it’s squashed down by the weight of Steve’s words. Steve isn’t wrong. Tony has no claim to Peter, legally or otherwise.

“I loved him from the moment I first saw him, eight days after he was born. Eight whole days. More than a week. He spent his first week crying with no one by his side, no one to soothe him, no one to love him.”

Tony wants to yell at Steve that he knows. He knows and doesn’t have to be reminded. He wants to ask Steve what he would do if he had been as mad with grief as Tony was. Even now, standing in this situation, Tony doesn’t regret his decision.

He’s about to tell Steve that when –

“We were doing just fine, the two of us, before you showed up. We don’t need you in our lives, Tony. There was a time when I thought we did, but we’re happy. Peter is happy. We don’t need you.”

Steve looks about as happy as Tony feels, but Tony is too busy letting Steve’s words crash again and again like a battering ram against his chest.

_Peter is happy._

That’s all Tony ever hoped for Peter. A happy life. When Peggy had handed Tony the papers giving up his claim on the little boy, Tony had prayed harder than he had ever done in his life for his son to grow up loved, cherished, happy.

He supposes he should be happy that he was granted this one wish.

And Steve hadn’t needed Tony to make Peter happy. The memory of Steve’s words, warm and full of truth rings in Tony’s head: _Peter’s happy because of you too, you know?_

It crashes and breaks, shattering shrapnel burrowing deep in Tony’s heart.

 _We don’t need you_.

‘You don’t need me,’ Tony almost repeats, but his mouth is dry and he can’t speak because there really is nothing more that needs to be said.

Without another word, he moves away from the door to allow Steve a chance to escape from the room, and Steve takes it. He gives Tony a curt nod as he leaves, and Tony takes it as a sign that they’ve reached some sort of understanding.

They don’t need him in their lives.

Tony doesn’t need them either. Tony was perfectly fine running his company and wrangling his inventions away from Obadiah Stane. He was fine staying late at galas charming rich people off their money for charity. He only had Pepper and Rhodey and Peggy, but that didn’t matter, did it? They were the ones who stayed. They were the ones who mattered.

Tony wants those lazy mornings with Steve and Peter, though, wants everything to just go back.

But they don’t need him.

They don’t want him.

* * *

“Tony, you don’t have to do this.”

Peggy is staring him down, concern in her gaze, not sympathy. This was why Tony loved Peggy. She knew what he needed, and she gave it to him, ceaselessly, unconditionally. He has never known how to thank her, and he doesn’t know how now.

“I’ve already made up my mind,” he says. He doesn’t want to hurt her, so he adds, “I just need to get away for a bit. You know how this thing is getting between staff and affecting patients. You can put me on sabbatical leave, if you have to.”

Peggy sighs, standing up from her seat to tug Tony into a hug. “Where will you go?”

Humming in thought, Tony replies, “don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll brush the cobwebs off Rhodey’s flying suit, take her ‘round to see the world.”

“You know, if you didn’t ask me not to, I’d have him fired in disgrace weeks ago, regardless of whatever history he has,” Peggy tells him, her voice fiercer than steel.

“I love you too, Aunt Pegs,” Tony murmurs, because if anyone is to have his heart, Tony knows it has always been safest with Peggy Carter.

She lets him go, holding him at arm’s length, her hands gentle and yet firm at each of his shoulders.

“I am incredibly, unwavering, proud of you. It will never be your fault that there are people like Steve who don't understand why you had to make the choices you did. Besides, if they can't even make the effort to try and understand, they're not worth it.”

Her gaze is sharp and soft, looking deep into Tony and filling the hollow crevices of his soul with warmth. “You are a good man, with a good heart, and I will always love you for it.”

Then, she smiles, and it feels like dawn rising over Tony’s heart. 

“When you’re ready to come home again,” she whispers, one hand reaching up to tame his unruly hair, “I’ll be waiting to talk your ears off and fatten you up with cakes.”

For the first time in weeks, Tony believes that he might actually be able to survive this. Like maybe he can find the strength to move on, and to continue tinkering and building and fixing until he tries to find a way to heal his heart and the mess he’s made of the world.

Eventually, Peggy lets him leave with his back ramrod straight, sunglasses perched on his nose like an armor. She watches him until he walks completely past the glass of her office windows, wondering when she'll get to see him again.

After a moment, her eyes drift back to the stark white envelope lying like a sore thumb on her immaculate desk. She doesn't need the three words stamped in black ink to know what it contains. Peggy wonders how things could have gone from joyous to this, whatever it is that exists now.

Then, because Peggy has never really been about protocol, she hooks two fingers beneath the painted wood of the desk, pressing until a small gap slides open. Gently, she slips the unopened letter inside, because no one needs to bother with it right now.

Tony still has an infinite amount of time to change his mind. She understands if he never does, but there’s no one who could replace Tony’s brilliance, anyway. SHIELD will never be able to find anyone competent enough to take Tony’s place at the forefront of the future.

Before she shuts the compartment and turns the lock, Peggy lets her gaze linger across the dark words marring the centre of the envelope.

_Letter of Resignation_


	18. Sins of the Father

**_Day 243_ **

Tony’s standing nervously at the front gates of the school, amongst other parents and students, dark sunglasses shielding his eyes and a cap on his head to add further to the disguise. No one except a little boy would expect Tony Stark to be waiting anxiously in front of a school, but it’s wise to hide from stray cameras anyways.

Craning his head, Tony looks around for any sign of –

“Mr. Tony!”

Peter.

He’s barrelling through the crowds, small backpack bouncing up and down, a huge smile on his face as he races towards Tony.

 _I could have had this every day if I hadn’t left him_ , Tony thinks.

He still doesn’t regret the decision, but to come this close, to have had Peter warm the corners of his heart, to know that Peter shares his passions and to have spent days laughing with this child, _his_ child, Tony aches.

“I missed you so much. Dad says you’re too busy at work to come and visit, and I know you have to go be a hero, but if you’re here, that means I can tell you what Bitsy’s done this week.”

Peter’s standing right in front of him now, and has his arms wrapped around Tony’s midsection. Tony bends slightly to return the embrace, relishing in the feeling of hugging his son. 

At least, Steve had been kind enough to not tell him the truth. Tony doesn’t want Peter to live with the knowledge that his father chose to leave him twice.

Whatever the reasons behind Tony’s actions, whatever anger Steve still has left, Peter shouldn’t ever be collateral damage.

“I missed you too.”

_I’ve missed you everyday since I gave you up, and I’ll miss you everyday for the rest of my life._

Tony takes a deep breath and pulls away, placing his hands down onto Peter’s shoulders, holding him at an arm’s length as Tony crouches down so that they’re eye level.

Steve is going to hate Tony for this, but it isn’t as if he doesn’t already.

“Your dad and I aren’t together anymore, Itsy Bitsy.”

Peter tilts his head, frowning. “But you love each other.”

It sounds so innocent, so simple coming from a little boy.

Tony has to swallow hard, grateful for the sunglasses covering his eyes.

“I can’t tell you how your dad feels about me, because I don’t know, and I can’t tell you how I feel about him because I haven’t figured it out yet. Even a genius like me sometimes gets stuck,” Tony lets out a small laugh he hopes doesn’t sound too bitter. “But I want you to know I love you, little spider. I haven’t figured out the rest, but at least there’s that.”

Peter nods quietly, and Tony feels both a strange sense of pride that his son is already so smart even at a young age, and sadness that Peter already understands some of the harsh realities of life.

“Does that mean I won’t see you anymore?”

There’s a tremor in Peter’s voice. Peter’s eyes are still dry, but Tony can see that it’s just a matter of time. Tony hates that he’s hurting him again.

“I _have_ been very busy with work. And I won’t be able to come to your birthday in a month, so I’m going to give you your present now, okay?”

Shakily, Tony unclasps his watch, the red and gold metal gleaming in the afternoon sun. Taking Peter’s hand and gently easing his palm upwards, Tony presses the glass surface against his little fingers, closing Peter’s fist around it.

Peter lets out a small gasp, mouth open in an ‘o’ shape. He looks conflicted, excited and confused all at once, as if wondering if he should accept such a gift.

“But you said this is dangerous.”

“And you shouldn’t go around electrifying people,” Tony says sternly. “If you can solve the puzzle I left for you in it, there’s another surprise Bitsy might like. I made it kid-friendly so you don’t turn all mad scientist on me.”

For once, Peter doesn’t protest at being called a kid.

Still clutching the watch tightly in his right first, Peter uses his left hand to reach out and pull Tony’s sunglasses down, leaving it hanging slightly askew on his face.

When Peter smiles at him this time, it isn’t wide, but it’s bright and brilliant. Tony is so, so grateful for this chance to say goodbye properly. It feels like a raw wound opening up again, but it’s also closure.

Tony doesn’t have to wonder anymore what his son looks like, whether his son is happy or not. 

No matter how much Steve has hurt Tony, Tony knows that Peter will continue growing up being cherished by his Dad and Aunts and Uncles, and that Peter will become a wonderful, amazing man Tony is proud of even now.

Then, Peter throws his arms around Tony.

“Thank you, Mr. Tony. I love it. Will it help me make more explosions? Will it make me a hero?”

Tony can’t help but laugh. With his hands around Peter’s back, he slides his sunglasses back up properly.

“I think you should hold back on the explosions for a bit, Pumpkin,” Tony murmurs, holding his son close for what may be the last time in a long time.

He hopes Peter doesn’t notice the tremble in his hands.

But Peter is as smart, if not smarter, than he is, and is as observant as always.

“Are you okay, Mr. Tony?”

His voice is muffled from where his mouth is pressed against the folds of Tony’s jacket.

Tony shakes his head with a small smile.

“I’m going to miss you, you little scoundrel.”

And with that Tony brushes a hand through Peter’s hair and draws back.

“I have to go now. Darcy should be here to pick you up soon, okay?”

They share another smile, and Tony feels a pang in his heart as Peter waves goodbye.

“Okay.”

Tony looks back one last time, but Peter isn’t looking at him anymore. 

The boy is staring down at the watch in his hands, and Tony feels the lightness of its absence on his wrist.

* * *

When Steve comes home, he expects to find Peter doing his homework in the living room and Darcy watching the TV. Instead, he finds the living room deserted and the TV droning softly about news on a superhero movie. Walking towards Peter’s room, Steve’s ears quickly pick up the sound of sobbing, and he bolts down the hall.

Peter’s door is opened, and Darcy’s at the edge of the bed trying to calm down a hysterical Peter. He’s hugging his bear doll tightly, Darcy looking nearly as distressed as him.

“Hey,” Steve says, carefully.

Darcy’s head whips around to face Steve, eyes wide as saucers. “He’s been clutching at this watch since I picked him up and he won’t stop and I don’t know what to do,” she desperately tries to explain.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he tries to make a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. Thank you. I’ll take care of him. You can go watch the TV or whatever you like.”

She nods and ducks out the room. Steve carefully gets on the bed with Peter. “Hi, darling,” he tries to get Peter to look at him.

“Dad, why is Mr. Tony leaving?”

Steve stiffens. His gaze falls at the watch in Peter’s hands and a cold settles in his spine. He knows those colours, those designs. He’s traced his fingers and sketched his pencils over their neat, calculated curves.

“Where did you get that?” It’s a rhetorical question. They both know it.

“Mr. Tony came by the school today.”

Pulling Peter towards him, Steve meets Peter’s gaze. “You have to stay away from him. I don’t want him near you.”

“Why?”

There’s really only one way to get Peter to understand, and Steve tells him to wait. When Steve comes back with Tony’s letter in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Peter’s sobbing has died down, his breaths only hitching.

“Drink first,” he tells Peter, who sullenly sips at the water. When Steve deemed it enough, he lets Peter hand him back the glass and rests it on the bedside table.

Peter looks at him expectantly. “This is from your birthfather. Your grandma Sarah found you in the incubation ward with your bear and this letter. The nurses told her that you’d been given up for adoption. You were seven days old. They said they were thinking of asking Sarah to take care of you while you were looking for a family. Your grandma told them she knew just the right person. The next day, when I visited her in the hospital, she took you to me and I fell in love. Just like that. I don’t know what this letter says, but I think you’re old enough to read it.”

Pressing closer to Steve, Peter takes the letter with reverence. His hands carefully unfold the yellowing papers, smoothing it flat with gentle fingers.

The entire page is entirely filled with handwritten letters that Steve scarcely ever sees – Tony’s always been extremely fond of his tech – but the blocky capital letters are achingly familiar regardless. There are spots where the black ink isn’t neat, and Steve knows that if he were to reach out and touch, the paper would be slightly crinkled from having once been wet with tears.

Peter starts reading out loud. Steve wants to tell him to stop, that the words were meant for Peter and Peter only, but a twisted part of him wants to know what words Tony saved for the son he abandoned, for the son he now craves.

_To my son,_

_You’re six days old as I write this. You’ve given the nurses hell, crying and crying nonstop. I told them to give you my Captain A-bear-ica doll and play a bit of AC/DC in your ears and you’ve calmed down for a bit, maybe you’re too used to hearing it blasting out in my workshop. You’re clutching the bear’s neck so tight I think it can’t breathe. Just like your mother, you don’t stop until you’ve got what you want, and you don’t let go of what you want. I do hope you grow up more like her than me._

_I don’t ask anything of you, and I have nothing to offer you but money. I’ve learned enough that no amount of money can ever buy a second of time, though. And I don’t want that for you. I want you to have the chance to play baseball games with your parents, even if you hate it. To paint with them, and have them read you stories. To not be afraid to tell them anything. To know that they love you, because they tell you every day and show you every moment._

_I don’t think I can do that. I spent five days catatonic from grief. You would grow up with a slightly deranged AI and three malfunctioning robots, and an alcoholic addict as a dad. I want to change myself, but I know I won’t be able to do that fast enough to give you the childhood you deserve._

_You were born three weeks early, and your mother passed away just before the doctors could save her. We were driving home from your check-up, and we were arguing about the company’s latest production line. The driver got distracted, and she wasn’t wearing a seat belt because she was pregnant. The impact fractured her skull, I got away with a cracked rib. By the time the ambulance came and we arrived back here at the hospital, the haemorrhaging was too severe to save her. But they could save you._

_Her name was Rumiko Fujikawa. She was a woman ahead of everyone else, strong and principled and kind. She loved airplanes and the wind on her face. She would spend hours on lipstick and dresses, but she would also come back from her dojo and play the piano to wind down. In her last words, she wanted me to stop making weapons so you could grow up in a better world. I was scared, and I should have listened to her. I’m sorry, for taking your mother away from you._

_There’s a photo of the three of us I’m putting in this envelope, in case you ever wonder what we look like, as I will wonder every second of my life what you will grow up to be like, what your name would be. That bump in her stomach? That’s you. We used to call you Pumpkin for how round you made her. She loved you with all her heart. I was too self-centred to do the same._

_There’s a family out there who wants you, who can take care of you and love you wholly, completely, unconditionally. They chose you, and I know that you will choose them too. You have the most beautiful smile in the world. Your parents will be so lucky to see it every day._

_When you read this, I know you will have grown to be a brilliant young man. Go to your parents and hug and thank them for me. Thank them for raising my child to be better than their birthfather, and thank them for being better parents than I could ever hope to be. Thank them for keeping my most precious creation safe._

_If one day you ever want to find me – though I doubt that you will ever want to – I’ll take you in my arms and beg for a forgiveness I hope you won’t give, because I won’t deserve it._

_And, while I don’t expect it, if you ever need or want me for any reason, I will welcome you and hope to all the gods above that you are happy._

_See that? I lied. I do that, sometimes._

_I_ am _asking something of you. I’m asking you to be happy._

_I love you. I’m sorry. I’ll always be thinking of you. But I hope that you’ll be happy enough that you’ll never have to think of me._

_I wish for the very best for you,_

_Tony._

Peter’s hands are shaking as he puts the letter down, and Steve’s own chest is tight, guilt weighing heavily. Had it all just been a convoluted coincidence? Did Tony not plan this? Did Tony not know who Peter was in the beginning?

“My father…” Peter’s saying in a dazed voice. 

Steve nods, handing him the envelope with the photograph. It slips out, and again Steve sees Tony’s young face frozen in mid-laughter.

“You knew,” Peter goes on, voice harsh and cold and accusing in a way Steve had never heard it before. “You knew he’s my father, and you sent him away. That’s why he’s leaving. You told him to.”

They aren’t questions. Peter is too smart, it’s a wonder Steve didn’t make the connection between the genius in him and Tony sooner.

“I found out only a few weeks ago when I saw the picture,” Steve tries to explain, trying to take Peter’s hand only to have his hand slapped away. “I just wanted to protect you, Pete. You don’t know his past, you don’t know who he could be, what he could be thinking. And I never told him to leave, only to stay away.”

Peter’s crying again, and when Steve gathers him into his arms, Peter beats relentlessly at Steve’s chest, little hands punching with force and anger.

“Well I don’t want him to go!”

“He left you before!” Steve snaps.

Instantly, he regrets it. Peter is suddenly deathly still in his arms, and Steve’s heart is beating too loud. It was cruel of Steve, he’s the adult, he should have better control. There’s just so many revelations, and Steve doesn’t want to be the wrong one, he _cannot_ handle the consequences of being wrong with Tony. Still, he needs to control his heart for Peter’s sake.

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs.

Peter pulls away. Sitting up on Steve’s lap and looking at him with Tony’s brown eyes. “He came back. He came back for me and now he’s leaving because of you.”

Steve sighs. “He’s not leaving, Peter. He’s just staying away.”

Something in Peter’s eyes flash dangerously. “Mr. Tony hugged me and told me he’ll always love me and he’d miss me. And then he gave me his watch.”

Steve freezes. Tony never talks much about his feelings. He bottles up his emotions and bangs them out in the workshop. He doesn’t tell Peter that he loves him, just promises to sell all of Peter’s toys, or comes home with a box of juice pops and a potato gun machine. Tony gets hives from showing emotion, and never does it in public.

 _God_ , Steve’s been such an ass.

He never stopped to question his assumptions when he humiliated Tony in front of everyone – doctors, patients, staff – at the hospital. He had harassed Tony and broken up with him in full view of the public, and only now is Steve seeing that Tony _let_ him. Because in the depths of Tony’s heart, he believed that he deserved this cruelty from Steve.

Steve had childishly, selfishly, ignorantly let the rift between him and Tony spread through the hospital, making his friends take sides and tearing apart friendships. It’s all his fault. And the letter. _God_ , Tony had bared his heart and soul in that letter. The earnest grief and heartbreak is enough to shatter Steve’s heart again. Steve had never heard Tony sound so somber. Tony jokes with snarky retorts, he needles at Steve until Steve relents and laughs.

The letter, Steve realises, is a confession from the deepest depths of Tony’s heart that no one else has been allowed to see. There is no way Tony could have faked that.

Steve needs to fix this. He needs to fix it, he needs –

“Dad.”

“Steve, you have to come see this.”

Peter’s and Darcy’s voices pull him out of his trance. Somehow, Peter had made his way out of Steve’s lap and to the doorway. Their faces are pinched with horror. Faintly, Steve can hear the television playing louder than it was before.

‘… _more reports are coming in about the crash on the JFK Freeway. No causalities on the scene, but a near tragedy as the cars exploded mere seconds after a man rescued the trapped driver... He has now been identified as Tony Stark, and has been evacuated for critical treatment…_ ’

There’s fire on the screen, and the headlines scream in block letters: STARK IN CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER HERO ACT.

Steve can’t breathe.

He can taste the sand in his mouth,

there’s smoke, the smell of the ash of burnt bodies.

His phone his vibrating in his pocket,

and he can feel the scorching heat

the desert sun on his neck.

“Dad. Dad, come on.”

Peter. He has to hold onto Peter.

Screams. Screams he can’t get to.

“Dad, we need to go.”

Steve blinks. How had Peter grown up so fast?

He nods, faintly hearing Darcy tell them that she’ll drive.

They’re in the car, Steve doesn’t know how they got there, but they’re in the car when his phone starts vibrating again.

On autopilot, Steve takes his phone out with one hand, his other hand still grasping tightly onto Peter’s.

There are dozens of missed calls from Peggy, Natasha, Bucky, and at least half of the hospital staff. Some messages are also there.

‘ _Steve, answer your phone goddam…_ ’

‘ _Something happened, need you to…_ ’

‘ _Don’t do anything stupid, just ans…_ ’

Steve scrolls through them without really seeing them. He doesn’t register why he should care about them.

Until, he reaches the end.

And there, at the very bottom of the list,

his heart stops for a beat,

his mind snapping to attention.

_1 voicemail from Tony Stark_.


	19. On the Highway to Hell

**_Day 243.5_ **

****

By the time they arrive at SHIELD’s ER, Steve has regained enough of his senses to ask Darcy to take Peter to the cafeteria for dinner while Steve tries to figure out what the hell is happening without interrupting the busy staff. Peter protests because he wants to know what’s happened to his father, but Steve promises that he’ll make sure Peter’s father is in the best hands, that Peter will know as soon as Steve knows.

 _Your father_ , the words are foreign to Steve’s tongue, and a day ago they would have tasted bitter. Now, they’re desperate.

None of the nurses in the ER have any clue about Tony except that he was wheeled away as soon as he arrived, but the fully booked OR schedule has no hint of Tony’s name. Nobody is answering Steve’s calls either, and Steve is nearing full blown panic when he crashes into Sam as he rounds a corner.

“Steve!” Sam says in relief. It’s a relief Steve feels deeply, too, to have finally found somebody who isn’t too busy to answer his questions.

“Tony. The news said they brought him here. Is he alive, Sam, is he?”

Sam holds out a placating hand. “Woah, Steve, calm down. He has Helen with him. They’re using the Cradle on him and last I heard, he’s stopped flatlining.”

“Flatlining? What happened?” Steve demands as Sam pulls him aside to let some people pass.

“The woman – she’s in the ER right now, mostly fine – was stuck in her seatbelt, he got her out, realised there was no time, and shoved her away. The explosion threw him. Third, fourth degree burns on his back and right side, fractured ribs, cranial bruising, neck brace for whiplash.”

“God,” Steve breathes out, grateful for Sam’s steadying hand. “Where is he?”

“He’s in the experimental theatre,” Sam tells him, “but there’s Nat and Peggy there. They might not let you in.”

Steve nods. “Thank you, Sam.”

“You’re my friend, but before you do anything, make sure you get your head screwed on straight, Steve.”

It’s only after Steve nods again that Sam lets him go.

* * *

After two hours of waiting without any more news, Steve sends Peter home with Darcy, who willingly offers to call Phil to help take care of Peter. Steve hadn’t told Peter that Tony’s heart had stopped once more as Steve watched Helen, Thor, and Danvers piece Tony’s charred, unmoving body together. The urgent _beep, beep, beep_ of the EKG still rings in Steve’s ears.

Natasha had looked coldly at Steve as Peggy clutched at the railing of the observation deck, her knuckles white. They stood in silence, the three of them, as others flitted in and out of the observation deck. He watched as they shot adrenaline into the veins of Tony’s left wrist, as the EKG fell flat, and Steve continued praying even after a pulse came back.

Helen’s Cradle worked slowly on Tony’s blackened skin while Thor and Carol dealt with the haemorrhaging in his chest and cranium. Steve has seen into the bodies of soldiers, of children, but nothing could have prepared him for the disconnect and panic that seeing Tony’s chest cut open and Tony’s closed eyes and almost peaceful face sends through Steve.

From the distance, Steve can barely see the movements of Tony’s breathing, and Steve longs to be down there, to wipe the dried blood on Tony’s fingertips away, but Steve has no right. He lost any right to touch Tony the moment he had let his anger take over.

Steve had forcefully wrenched himself away from the room to get back to Peter, and when Peter had been told that Tony was still in surgery, Peter had turned away from Steve, evidently cross with his dad. Truthfully, Steve was angry at himself too, and he wouldn’t scold Peter for not wanting to talk to Steve for the moment.

Left to his own devices, Steve goes back and watches silently for another three hours until Helen finally declares the procedure over. With every stitch that they put in Steve, it hits home again and again that this is entirely Steve’s fault, and Steve hates himself.

The breathing tube stays in as Thor puts Tony in a medically induced coma and wheels him out to the ICU. Peggy leaves, and when Steve tries to follow, Natasha stops him with a firm hand on his wrist.

“You don’t get to be there, Rogers,” Natasha says, standing fiercely between Steve and the door. “I have been your friend for over half a decade, but what you did to Tony? I don’t trust you to be near him.”

“I know,” Steve tells her, voice low and pleading. “I just need – I’m sorry, God, I’m sorry, I was so wrong, Tash, I need to tell him I’m sorry, I need to – ”

Natasha’s grip on his wrist tightens, the strength that she so easily hides coming out in full force. “What you need,” she commands, dangerously cold, “is to go home. And when _Tony_ is ready to see you, when Tony _wants_ to see you, only then will _you_ get to see _him_.”

* * *

Steve ends up next to Bucky in one of the empty waiting rooms. It’s in the dead of night. He can’t bear to go home, to the silence and to Peter’s angry glare. When Steve had looked up from where he’d bowed his head on the altar of the hospital’s chapel, Bucky had been standing behind him, metal hand warm against Steve’s shoulder.

Bucky has been there since before the beginning, and it feels safe, familiar to be with him, as if Steve can rest under the shelter that Bucky has always given him.

“You messed up real bad, Stevie,” Bucky quietly murmurs. “I know I haven’t pushed, but what made you do it?”

In the stillness of the room, Steve confesses. “I was scared. I didn’t want to lose Peter. You know how all Peter can talk about is Tony? I saw the picture of Tony and his, his fiancée, and Tony wasn’t answering his phone and I just – I’ve always tried my damn hardest to make Peter happy, to keep him _safe_ – and what are the chances, Bucky? This extraordinary man who deserves far, far better than me swoops into my life, and it turns out my adopted kid is his? I was scared. I didn’t want to lose Peter. And jealous, too. And I know that’s no excuse.”

The look that Bucky gives Steve isn’t pitying, it borders on acceptance and exasperation. “There’s never a boring day with you, is there, Rogers?”

Steve huffs. “He sent me a voicemail. Buck, even after everything he still left me a goodbye, and I gave him nothing. His heart stopped _four times_ , because I pushed him away. He was on that highway because he wanted to get away from him and he died four times because of me.”

His voice breaks at the last word, Bucky’s hand instinctively coming up to rub soothing circles into Steve’s back as Steve bows his head.

“Steve…”

Steve shakes his head, rubbing angrily at his eyes before he takes out his phone. Scrolling down, he presses the play button.

‘ _Please listen. For Peter. If not for me, then please listen for Peter_ ,’ Tony’s recorded voice fills the silence. ‘ _I’m sorry. I didn’t know Peter was my biological son until he showed me his bear. And then I panicked and ignored you. I don’t know how you found out, but I should have told you, shouldn’t have kept it a secret for so long. I knew I would lose you – I let go of Peter years ago, but you. I didn’t want to let_ you _go._ ’

‘ _This is more for me than you, I guess, for some closure before I go to try to find a new life_. _I’m sorry, I wish things could have gone any other way. I hope you keep giving Peter all the happiness in the world. I hope_ you _get to find your right partner. And because I know you’ll one day be sorry for your words, and because I need to move on: one day, I’ll forgive you. I’m not there yet, everything is too much of a mess and a pain, but yeah. You’ll be forgiven. So, I guess that’s that, Dorito. Oh, yeah, sorry for getting JARVIS to hack your phone, and if Peter starts freaking out about the watch, tell him ITSY’s got a training wheels protocol._ ’

For a long while, Steve lets Bucky hold him. Sam had told Steve to get his head screwed on straight, Natasha had told him to go home. He thinks back to how mad with grief he was when he thought he lost Bucky in the unforgiving desert, how he had torn himself apart when his mother had finally succumbed to her cancer. The first time, he had had his mother, Peggy, and Natasha and Sam, the second time, there was Peter to ground Steve.

This time, Steve has everyone and no one. He knows that no matter how much they love Steve, they’ve had time to learn Tony’s side of the story, and they blame Steve. Steve accepts the blame, he deserves it, but it feels so heavy that he feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s choking on sand dust again.

 _Get your head screwed on straight_ , Steve repeat bitterly to himself as he slowly lets out a breath. Bucky casts a worried glance at Steve, and suddenly, it hits him like a freight train.

The clarity is astounding after hours of feeling adrift.

“Buck,” his throat works around the words, “I think I need therapy.”

It’s hard to admit. Steve has always been a proud man, but he realises that if he wants to move forward, if he wants what’s best for Peter, if he wants to have even a shadow of what he had with Tony, Steve needs to do this. He needs to stop bottling his fears, his insecurities, and he needs to talk to someone about the memories that keep flashing in his mind, the ones that scare him and make him hold on to the wrong things.

Something bright shines in Bucky’s eyes. Maybe it’s just the white lights overhead reflected in his gaze, maybe it’s not. “I’m proud of you, punk.”

They share the silence for another moment before –

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“What did Tony mean by ITSY and training wheels?”


	20. Blood is Thicker

**_Day 245_ **

Every time Steve has been dropping by the ICU more often than necessary, he invariably comes across one of Tony’s fiercest protectors. He doesn’t step into the private room, hovering outside the glass walls to peer at the heart monitor, needing to see for himself that Tony is still breathing, that nothing is amiss and no complications have arisen. The general consensus is that Tony needs to stay in the coma for another two days, and something deep in Steve aches at the sight of Tony’s closed eyes, a breathing tube inserted between his lips, and IV tubes in both his arms. Helen’s Cradle has done miracles: Tony’s skin is nearly absent of blemishes, but the trauma to his body still requires recovery.

It isn’t right that Tony should be so quiet and unmoving – and yet it also wasn’t right for Steve to have shoved him away, to have assumed so blindly and take his fears and doubts out on Tony. When Steve had finally asked, Sam had gotten him an on-the-spot appointment with Doctor Xavier, and while Steve knew that one appointment wouldn’t be a cure-all and it would be much more work – he would have to learn to balance the appointments on top of his already tight schedule at SHIELD and with Peter – Steve felt, for the first time, that there might be a little light at the end this tunnel.

Tony might never forgive Steve, he had more than every right to, but Steve owed it to Tony, to Peter, to his family, and to himself to understand how not to repeat his outburst and his mistakes in the future. He didn’t want anyone else to be hurt just because he was too full of the past to not trust the present, because he was too rooted in his own beliefs that he couldn’t pause to try understand, to try ask, communicate.

Peter is still cross with him, and the only reason he talked with Steve today was the promise that Steve would bring him over to see Tony. And now they’re at the doors to Tony’s room, Peter fiddling with the letter he’s had since he came into the car and told Steve in no uncertain terms that they were going to go visit Tony.

There’s a man sitting in the chair next to the bed dabbing a wet towel over Tony’s face, carefully smoothing away stray curls of hair, and as soon as Steve presses the button the slides the doors open, the man’s head whips around to glare at them.

“You’re Steve,” he says, voice hard and cold. Then, his eyes flick down to Peter, who steps determinedly into the room.

“And I’m Peter. You must be Mr. Rhodey. I promise I won’t be loud, I just want to give Mr. Tony – my father – this,” Peter explains in a loud whisper, holding out the envelope to Rhodey.

“I won’t come in,” Steve hastily adds, because of all the stories he has heard about Rhodey, Steve knows that Rhodey has and would go to the ends of the world for Tony. “Peter wanted to see his father and I – I had no right to stop him.”

The man stands up, eyes fixed on Steve as the places the towel on the bedside table and walks over to the door. He stops in front of Peter, crouching down so he can place his hands on each of Peter’s shoulders and _look_ at Peter.

“Tony has told me _so much_ about you,” Rhodey reaches out to take Peter’s right hand, where Tony’s watch is securely strapped. Peter tracks his movements as Steve holds his breath.

“He has?” Peter asks with awe in his voice.

Steve feels the guilt weigh even heavier. Peter _is_ Steve’s son, but Peter isn’t just Steve’s son. Growing up, Steve didn’t have anybody except his mother and the Barnes family. Peter has… everyone, from Natasha to Thor to Peggy and even Rhodey, and most of all Tony, who would never hurt Peter, and who loved Peter as his own when he didn’t know who Peter was other than that Peter was a brilliant, kind young man.

“Yeah, even though he’s freaked out by your favorite creepy crawlers.”

There’s a kindness to Rhodey’s words as his knowing eyes shine with mischief. All at once, Steve understands why Tony loves this man, why Tony, too, would go to the ends of the world for Rhodey.

“Why don’t you go sit in that chair? Tony can’t answer you right now, but there’s a big chance he can hear you, and that will make his dreams better,” Rhodey goes on, and Steve is grateful for it because he himself doesn’t know what to say. “I’ll be outside with your dad for a moment.”

As soon as Rhodey stands up, Peter darts over to the bed, and Steve silently stands back to let Rhodey step outside with him.

Once the doors slide close, Rhodey doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s cut this short so the kid doesn’t have to see this. What do you want with Tony?”

“I, uh, I want to apologize.”

Rhodey doesn’t look impressed. “And?”

“And I’ll stay away. I’ve asked the Director to pass a circular letter from me explaining that I was at fault and I’ve been put on probation. The staff here shouldn’t be bothering him and won’t be giving him a hard time.”

To realise and admit that he was wrong was hard for Steve, but to figure out what to do next? Steve could wallow in his guilt later. He had always been a strategist, and figuring out what to do to at least make Tony’s recovery easier was something Steve could do. Peggy hadn’t been ready to forgive Steve yet, but she by the end of his request, she had given him a smile. And that was a start.

That was a hope.

“Don’t you _dare_ mess with him again, Captain,” Rhodey growled. From any other person, it would have been a honorific. From the Lieutenant Colonel, Steve knew it for the threat it was.

Rhodey doesn’t bother dismissing Steve, he just stalks back into Tony’s room, leaving Steve to hover in the hallway, mind too full and heart too heavy.

Maybe, Steve hopes as he watches Peter smile at Rhodey and Rhodey smile back, maybe something good could come out of this – if not for Steve, then for Peter.

* * *

**_Day 247_ **

****

The steady beeping is as familiar as it is annoying. Behind the darkness of his heavy eyes, Tony feels light. There’s something on his face, and he wants to grab it off, but his arms are heavy. There’s something warm on his hand, it’s comfortable, and yet Tony wants it to move so he can get the beeping off.

“Hey, sleepyhead, wake up before they start panicking.”

Tony knows that voice. He doesn’t want to wake up, though, it’s too nice to stay. He groans to get them and the beeping away.

“That’s it,” the voice coaxes, “wake up so you can curse at me.”

Opening his eyes is a feat that Tony personally thinks should be rewards with an Olympic medal. It takes all of his strength to pry his eyelids apart, and when he succeeds, he sees a dark blob floating in his vision.

“Go ‘way, Rh’dey.”

“I told you he’d be fine!” Rhodey whispers victoriously, and then, “alright you can go back to sleep, idiot.”

Tony wants to tell Rhodey that Rhodey’s the stupid one for waking Tony up with no reason, but he’s pulled back by the soft darkness too quickly.

* * *

****

**_Day 248_ **

“Don’t you dare leave,” Rhodey tells Tony as the bed rises to let Tony sit up in comfort. Having finally woken up lucid to no pains thanks to the IVs he’s tried to pull out, Tony is itching to leave, and he would have if not for Rhodey sitting like a mother hen at his bedside.

“I don’t want to,” Tony groans. He doesn’t want to stay, doesn’t want to meet anyone, doesn’t want to meet –

“Peter left you a letter.”

“ _What?_ ” Tony’s eyes snap open.

Rhodey waves an envelope in the air, an eyebrow raised as Tony darts out one hand to grab it and Rhodey moves just out of Tony’s reach. “Nope. You don’t get to read it until you _promise_ you will _not_ leave that bed unassisted until at least tomorrow.”

Tony pouts. “Platypus, I’m fine! The Cradle’s made me as healthy as a babe. I don’t even hurt. _Plus_ , I’ve been in bed for like six days.”

“And you spent one of those days _dying four times!_ ” Rhodey exclaims. Here, in this private room that Tony’s been moved to, Rhodey doesn’t need to worry about disturbing other patients. “I’m entitled to worry.”

“Fine,” Tony relents, only to calm his friend down, “I know you missed my endless phone calls.”

Rhodey huffs, battling a smile. He understands that Tony means _I’m sorry for stressing you out_.

“Look, Tony, don’t let Rogers off the hook easy, okay? If you do, _I’m_ not going to give him an easy time. I get why he did some of the things he did, but the other things?” Rhodey shakes his head as he hands Tony the letter. “You focus on taking care of yourself first before you think about him.”

Tony swallows hard. It overwhelms him, sometimes, how much Rhodey cares for him, and how lucky he is to have him. “Don’t worry, I have you to mother hen me to sleep.”

“I met Natasha,” Rhodey laughs, “she’ll manage in my absence.”

He settles into the bedside chair as Tony carefully peels the envelope open. Tony doesn’t know what to expect, what Peter would even want to say, and does this mean Steve has changed his mind about letting Tony near Peter? Was it Tony nearly dying that made Steve change his mind?

The writing is surprisingly neat for a child, though the letters are bigger than normal and sometimes float off the lines. Tony can see the eraser marks from where Peter kept changing the words, and it sets off something in Tony to know that Peter spent so long writing this.

_Mr. Dad Tony,_

_Would you mind if I called you that? If I call both my dad and you the same thing, it would get confusing really fast. And I want you to be my second dad so confusing is bad. I’m angry at dad for making you leave, but he promised me I get to see you once a week if we both want, so I’m a tiny bit less angry. I miss you, so please wake up, Mr. Dad Tony. Bitsy misses you too._

_I read the letter you left me so this is my reply. Ms. Parker at school who is helping me write says it’s ok to have two dads and dads don’t have to be biological as long as they love you. But I really like spending time with you and it would be cool if I had your genius genes and you love me. I know you said you wasn’t ready for me eight years ago and I’m glad I got my dad Steve, but if you’re ready now, I want you to hug me and build more spiders and watch Cap throw his shield with me._

_If not, you don’t have to worry like you said in your letter, Mr. Dad Tony. I’m angry now but I am happy with my dad, and I was happy when I was with you too. And if you still leave, I’m happy I met you. I just really want you to wake up. Please don’t die._

_Love,_

_Peter_

It’s unfair, Tony thinks, it’s unfair that Peter should know so much about goodbyes. It’s unfair that he’s already preparing to lose his birthfather twice. _I was happy when I was with you_ , Peter had written, and Tony wants to cry, he wants to have this so badly. Now that he’s been forced back here by the most bizarre circumstances, he can’t force himself to leave again, not for the third time.

“Hey,” Rhodey murmurs, “we’ll get through this, alright? You can do whatever you want – except leave this room. You’re still not leaving until tomorrow.”

Tony sniffles, wiping his nose, careful to keep the letter safe. “Can I – can you see if I can see the kid?”

Rhodey smiles, “I’ll make sure nobody can stop you. But for now, rest.”

He holds out Tony’s tablet, knowing full well that JARVIS would give Tony the distraction needed, and for a long while, they stay like that, safe in the knowledge that through all these years, they still have each other.


	21. The Mismatched Beating of Our Hearts

**_Day 250_ **

Tony has finally been released from Rhodey’s maternal clutches, in part because Rhodey’s been called back for duty that he can’t delay any longer. It was surprising to walk back to his lab, where Bruce, Helen, Natasha and Peggy prepared a small blueberry cake to celebrate. There are also flowers, get well soon cards and teddy bears piled on top of his table, turning his small mess into a giant one. He had asked for the flowers and bears to be sent to the children’s ward, but it was a turnaround he didn’t understand.

When Tony had left for the airport, almost the entire staff had been cold and even hostile against him. Peggy hesitantly told him about Steve explaining to everyone the truth, and how Steve had publicly and personally put himself on probation by the hospital’s rules for his violent outburst.

A long, serious talk with Rhodey had forced Tony to admit that he was willing to forgive Steve, but the hurt and the horror meant that he wasn’t ready to do so just yet. Knowing that Steve was trying to mend things, while not enough to earn Tony’s forgiveness yet, was enough to gratify Tony.

So, when the doors to his lab slide open a few hours later, Tony doesn’t flee when he sees Steve. Well, he doesn’t flee because he sees Peter, too.

The boy hovers uncertainly at the entrance instead of barging in as usual, and it makes Tony ache.

“Come in, Peter, I got your letter, and you’re very convincing in getting me to wake up and stay.”

Only then does Peter smile wide, letting go of Steve’s hand to rush at Tony, stopping just inches away. “Will it hurt you if I hug you, Mr. Dad Tony?”

“No, as long as your dad’s fine with it, I would love to be hugged.”

It might be unnecessarily cruel for Tony to dig at Steve like that, and as Steve winces and averts his gaze, Tony does feel a twinge of guilt, but Tony has always met confrontation head on, protecting himself with sharp words to hide from his own hurt.

The twinge of guilt quickly fades away, though, at the two arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Closing his eyes, Tony curls himself downward to wrap his arms around Peter, treasuring the chance.

“You’re not going to leave?” Peter asks, his voice muffled against Tony’s shirt.

“No, someone’s got to make sure you don’t build an army of robots,” Tony grins as he feels Peter laugh.

Opening his eyes, Tony feels his smile turn into a frown. Steve is still standing just outside the door, looking extremely uncomfortable. Tony doesn’t want to have to talk with Steve, but it irks him to see Steve shuffling and fidgeting like that. “Make up your mind, Rogers. Come in or don’t, I don’t care. Just stop keeping the doors open.”

Steve’s eyes widen in something close to fear that Tony doesn’t understand. “I’ll, uh, I’ll come by to pick Peter up in an hour.”

And he leaves, bolting down the hall with a speed that both confuses and surprises Tony.

Peter pulls away, tugging at Tony’s hand to get his attention. “Dad’s been sad because I’m still angry at him for making you leave.”

That’s not what Tony expects Peter to say, and it hurts because Tony’s torn a rift between Peter and the father he adores so much. No matter how many misgivings Tony has about Steve now, it’s never been a question that Steve has been good to Peter.

“You should forgive him,” Tony gently tells him. Whatever fights he still has with Steve, Peter shouldn’t be caught in between, being forced to take sides or choose. Tony knows well enough the lasting pain of that. “He only did it because he loves you – he was wrong in how he showed it, but the reason is still that he loves you so much.”

“If you say so,” Peter doubtfully relents.

Tony smiles as best as he can, pulling Peter back in for another hug so the little boy won’t see the grief Tony can’t find the strength to hide. “I _am_ a genius, my ideas are the best, you should listen.”

When Peter’s laugh rumbles against his skin, Tony finds that it isn’t really that hard to smile along. And then Tony learns about all the corners Bitsy has travelled to in the past month, and for a while, Tony lets himself hope that there’s some light at the end of this tunnel.

* * *

**_Day 251_ **

“I thought I’d come by with a peace offering,” Steve blurts out as he stands in the doorway after Tony stares at him for a long minute. “I wanted to apologize, if you’ll allow me to. But if you don’t, I’ll just, uh, leave the coffee here.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tony asks flatly, “and if I don’t want anything from you?”

Steve takes a step back, his face pinching, “then you have every right to tell me to go away.”

“Come back tomorrow,” Tony says, “I’m not in the mood.”

There’s that kicked puppy look on Steve’s face that Tony has never been able to resist, and contrary to popular belief, Tony wants this over with. He wants to get on with life, to figure out the next step and move on from this weird place they’re stuck in. But Tony is trying to be responsible and – to his friends’ ultimate shock and pride – emotionally mature. He’s not ready to do this today.

Still, Tony can’t help but call out to Steve’s retreating back:

“Leave the coffee here!”

* * *

**_Day 252_ **

As expected, Steve is back, with a fresh cup of hot coffee and a contrite look. When Tony invites him in, he settles in his usual chair, meekly placing the cup on the table and nudging it towards Tony as he hunches in on himself, as if trying to become smaller.

It’s unbearably silent.

Tony picks up a bolt, twirling it in his fingers, unable to bear the stillness, and asks, “so?”

Steve clears his throat, eyes darting around the room skittishly before settling on Tony’s. “I’m sorry. I overreacted, assumed things I shouldn’t have, and took my fears out on you.”

“Yeah, not cool,” Tony mutters, scratching the back of his neck. The sincerity of Steve’s words is undeniable, and yet, “what do you want, Steve?”

“To apologise, and if you – if you ever do accept it, then maybe to be friends, colleagues, whatever you want it to be.”

 _Okay_ , Tony thinks, he can work with that. It’s amicable, and should work for whatever arrangement Peter and Steve have sorted out with each other about spending time with Tony. And, in the spirit of being emotionally mature, Tony concedes, “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have hidden from you. I’ve been told that communication isn’t my forte, and when Peter showed me his doll… well, I don’t think anyone would’ve known what to do.”

Steve looks down, his fingers twisting over each other as he bites his lip. “You weren’t wrong to be scared of what I’d do. I’m sorry.”

“I, uh, I’m working on forgiving you. Might take a while, but I’ll get there, eventually,” Tony mumbles, uncomfortable. He puts the bolt down and trades it for a screwdriver, turning it over and over in his palm.

Again, Steve clears his throat. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again. I want – I miss you, not just all the kissing, but being your friend, talking and listening to you and learning how to really live through your crazy impulses – but looking back, I realise I was too caught up in the easiness that I was scared to look deeper, that I was scared you’d go even deeper in me and you wouldn’t like what you’d find. And I pushed you away because I was scared, too.”

Tony doesn’t know what to do with those words, his thoughts are shorting out even as Steve continues, “and as much as I miss you, you deserve better than to be with someone you’re scared of.”

“Wait,” Tony blurts out, incredulously, indignantly, “are you breaking up with me _again_? And I’m not scared of you.”

Steve shakes his head, “you flinched. When I reached out to put the cup on the table, you flinched.”

Tony had forgotten how well Steve knows him, how impossible it was to hide from Steve’s knowing eyes. Something in him wants to snap out at Steve, unwilling to admit to this weakness, this old fear that’s been dug up to the surface. “Was it Sam or Barnes who taught you how to apologise?”

A twisted pleasure bubbles in Tony as he watches Steve bristle – it turns into shame soon enough, though, as he can see Steve visibly reining himself. “Charles did. Look, I know you need time, because I know I won’t ever forgive myself for lashing out at you. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. If you want to see Peter, I’ll arrange it. If hurting me back helps you, go ahead, but not in front of Peter.”

“Who’s Charles?” Tony asks because he doesn’t know how else to respond.

A flush creeps up Steve’s cheeks. Just a month ago, Tony would have delighted in it, kissing it to make it grow. Now, it confuses Tony.

“Doctor Xavier. I didn’t want to, uh, tell you like this because it’s not an excuse, not a trick to get you back, but Sam made me realise I haven’t really dealt with losing my Ma, or losing my comrades in the 108th Army Division. I’ve been using Peter as a distraction, focusing too much on him that I didn’t see what I was doing to myself, to my friends, to you.” Steve looks up, sighing heavily as he closes his eyes. “And I was also scared that if people found out about my flashbacks they’d take Peter away for a better father. I took that out on you. I don’t want to do that again. And, again, I’m sorry.”

It’s humbling and shocking all at once. Tony knows how hard admitting to needing help can be, and how much harder getting the help can be. So, while it still isn’t enough to heal Tony’s wounds, it _is_ enough for Tony to truly believe that Steve is willing to work for whatever future lies ahead of them. That Steve’s sorry means more than just words, more than the useless apologies of men like Howard or Tiberius.

And that… that’s something.

“Alright, a truce,” Tony tells Steve, finally putting down the screwdriver in favour of taking a sip from the cup of coffee, sweet and bitter and warm. “Keep bringing me this stuff and you can keep coming here.”

The smile that Steve gives is disbelieving but bright, and even if they still have a long way to go, Tony thinks the future might not be as dreadful as he feared.


	22. All That is Gold

**_Day 281_ **

They’ve settled into their familiar clockwork rhythm. As frequently as his schedule allows, Steve comes to Tony’s lab with a cup of coffee. Sometimes, he does his paperwork; other times, Tony uses his muscles to move things around the lab.

They are… awkward friends. Some of the jokes they used to share don’t quite fit anymore in light of recent event, leaving terse silences that Tony extricates himself from. He doesn’t know if they can ever go back to being more than friends – despite the undeniable attraction he still feels for Steve, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready to trust Steve with his heart again.

There are still some ways where they fit like they used to, though, and in those moments where Steve shows Tony a video of Sam’s atrocious falcon costume, or when Butterfingers proudly presents to Tony a mess of colored lines Steve taught him to scribble.

But there are lots of little things that are... off. Steve stiffens whenever Tony accidentally touches him, and he waits for Tony to wave him in the lab before he enters. Where Steve used to deftly shy away from any talk about the war or his past before Peter, he starts bringing bits and pieces of it into their conversations. _I used the Stark AdheSeal Bandages to stop Bucky’s bleeding and save his life_ , Steve had said when Tony had rambled its flaws.

It had taken Tony aback, because when the news was wildly spreading about the 107th’s miraculous rescue and Steve’s heroic, life-saving acts as doctor, Stark Industries had faced backlash over their stolen weapons that were used against the American battalion. He had always known that Steve was disturbed by Tony’s past and haunted by his own past. For Steve to begin speaking of it openly made Tony realise that perhaps they didn’t know each other as well as they thought, and it sparked something in Tony to learn that not every mistake he made in the past led to death, that Steve was willing to share that part of him with Tony.

The most disconcerting change, however, was how Steve would cut himself off mid-laugh, swallowing back the laughter as if he’d done something wrong. In fact, he’s doing it right now.

It irks Tony, and it’s well past time Tony asked Steve about it. After all, communication is, apparently, the key to everything. “Why’d you stop?”

Steve’s eyes widen, caught between surprise and panic. “Stop what?”

“Laughing,” Tony drily says, swiping away the blue hologram between them so he can read Steve’s face better. “You’ve been weird. You stop laughing, and you’re shifty and fidgety and you stand at the door like a goddamn vampire stranger until I invite you in. If you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to come, you know?”

Tony really doesn’t want to fight with Steve, but, really, it’s inevitable with the way they both crash, their jagged edges hurting and cutting into each other before finding a place to fit together.

Shifting awkwardly in his chair, Steve runs a hand through his hair, his fingers catching at some of the unbrushed tangles there. “I don’t come in because I wait for your permission.” His words are halting but steady, as if he’s thought of them carefully and is weighing their sins against his tongue, and Tony can only stare as Steve goes on, “I used to never ask for it from you, just assumed and went on. During your welcoming party at Peggy’s I just assumed you’d need help. That first fight of ours – about the young woman and her child – I assumed I knew better. And with Peter and you, I assumed so many things so blindly, and I’m sorry. I need to stop assuming and to stop taking charge of everything like I’m still in the battlefield.”

What can Tony say to an admission like that? To hear such a truth given freely and sincerely hurts something in Tony, like an arm rebroken to set it right, those words dislodge a misplaced piece of Tony, shifting it just so, making it both harder and easier for Tony to breathe, to be.

“Well, consider this blanket permission for your vampire self to enter this lab, with extra special entrance privileges if you bring your little menace with you,” Tony eventually settles on saying, and it comes out less nonchalant than intended.

Even after their massive fight, Tony had never rescinded Steve’s access, and as much as Tony is still wary of Steve, Tony knows that here in his little kingdom of his creations, he’s as safe as he can be.

And knowing that Steve has so carefully restrained himself, has taken the effort to look into himself to understand and learn, it settles again something deep in Tony, as if one of their jagged edges has finally pierced deep enough to burrow itself forever in him, slotting messily in some lonely, forgotten corner of Tony’s heart, that has ached since before birth.

* * *

**_Day 289_ **

****

Steve’s slumped against the wall across the chemical testing labs, the results crumpled into a tight ball in his hand. He’ll have to ask for another copy to be printed to give to the parents, and usually he’d feel guilty for overworking the chemists, but he can’t bring himself to really bother.

As Head of Paediatrics, Steve cherished the chance to save lives, putting smiles back on children’s faces by making their lives less painful, and giving them the chance to have better, easier lives. And the hardest part of the job is to tell their parents that their child has less than a year to live, and worse, to explain to the children themselves that they have to stay in bed, they can’t go out to enjoy the sun, to chase their dreams as their friends can.

Here, in the silence of these halls away from parents and children and patients, Steve lets himself grieve for a moment. He’s always been fond of the innocence, curiosity, idealism of children, and he cares for each of the children placed in his trust – and as much as Steve wants to mourn the young girl who desperately wants to be an astronaut, Steve cannot let himself break in front of her or her parents. So he allows himself these few stolen minutes to gather his courage.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The voice that breaks his thoughts is Tony’s, and hearing it is always enough to lift some of Steve’s mood, no matter how dark. Tony’s forehead is scrunched up in a frown, his hand loosely holding his phone as he looks pointedly at Steve’s fist.

Steve lets out a long breath, trying to steady himself and relaxing his hold on the ball of paper. “Just confirmed one of my patients has early onset Huntington’s,” he admits quietly, as if saying it quieter would make it any less horrifying, less real, less true.

Tony closes his own eyes for a second, and Steve knows that Tony shares in his grief and regret. “How long do they have?”

“Six months, seven at best.”

“God,” Tony curses, and then, spinning his phone between his fingers nervously, “do you need anything?”

Leaning his head further back on the wall to look up at the glaringly white lights, Steve murmurs, “it’s fine,” knowing that his voice betrays him but not finding the strength to hide any better. “I need to tell her parents now, anyways.”

Tony watches him for a few seconds longer and Steve makes no move to leave, still needing to put himself together. Usually, Steve doesn’t give himself too much time to linger this fear and regret and helplessness, and logically Steve knows that the girl’s genetic mutation isn’t his fault, but, regardless, it feels like a failure and it’s one failure too many on top of the mess that the past months have been.

And then, he feels Tony lean against the wall next to him, their shoulders brushing just slightly. For a moment, Steve feels even more guilt at the comfort of Tony’s touch, but Tony decides to say fiercely, with the conviction of a conqueror, “six months is more than enough time for her to dazzle the world. And enough time for us to solve the problem.”

Steve’s mind lingers on the ‘ _us_ ’, and no matter how undeserving Steve is, he finds courage and hope in it, just as he has always found plenty of both in Tony.

* * *

**_Day 293_ **

Every Saturday is Peter’s day with Tony, which Steve doesn’t intrude on. He drops his son off at Tony’s door in the morning and picks him back up an hour before bedtime, and those hours he spends with Peter are the highlight of Tony’s week.

Peter has yet to solve the puzzle to unlock the very heavily modified and kid-friendly AI programmed into the watch, though Tony is sure that he’ll solve it soon enough. For now, Peter is perfectly content hearing Tony talk about some obscure mechanical concept or dragging Tony to the TV to show him the latest Captain America episodes.

“I like Iron Man, too, he’s smart,” Peter had cheerfully told Tony, “and also ‘cause it’s sort of possible to make him, right, Pops?”

The three of them have come to an agreement that _Mr. Dad Tony_ is a bit long to say, and it was Steve who suggested that Peter call Tony something like _Pops_ or Papa. It sticks. Tony still feels a giddy sense of joy every time he hears it.

As happy as Tony was, however, he still carefully withheld the fact that Tony had in fact built a flying suit of armor for Rhodey to protect himself. Peter could learn that himself later, but Tony hadn’t been able to resist calling Rhodey anyway. As a newly designated Uncle, Rhodey takes his job very seriously and Tony suspects that Rhodey cherishes the way Peter runs circles around Tony and makes Tony grumble about too smart, too inquisitive little menaces.

Tony’s still smiling at the memory of Peter video-calling his Uncle Rhodey when one of the attendings crashes into Tony, sending Tony sprawling to the floor on his back and his tablet crashing loudly to the ground.

The shorter, bulkier man shows no remorse, face scrunched up in disgust as he just steps over Tony.

“Hey, you got a problem?” Tony shouts at the man’s retreating back. Sitting up on the floor as he is now, he’s gaining an audience, but he doesn’t care.

The man turns around, an eyebrow raised. His nametag reads _B. Rumlow_. “What, you going to run and cry to the Director?”

Rage burns in Tony as he stands up, not bothering with his fallen tablet, and stalks to Rumlow, Tony’s find finally recognising the name. How dare he insult Peggy like that?

“What, you scared because you don’t have Pierce to run to anymore?” Tony hisses, “how does it feel that he doesn’t give a shit about you?”

Rumlow raises his fist, and, unconsciously, Tony flinches, taking a step back. There’s a harsh laugh in his ears. “Scared of me, Stark?”

Tony most certainly _isn’t_ , and he’s about to give Rumlow another piece of his mind when there’s suddenly a large mass of muscles between him and the asshole.

“Doctor Hill is looking for you,” the familiar voice says, and Tony can see Rumlow’s face pale, “something about how you gave the wrong dosage of propofol? Better run, Rumlow.”

And then, Steve turns to Tony as Rumlow flees. Tony’s burning anger abruptly has nowhere to go, except maybe at Steve, who has promised Tony not to assume but is here now assuming Tony needs help and _God_ does Tony have more than enough anger stored for Steve and how he’s now trying to move Tony.

“I can protect myself well enough,” Tony snaps at Steve, who pulls Tony into an empty room away from prying eyes and locks the door, drawing down the blinds. Only then does Steve let go of Tony, raising his hands in an attempt at peace.

“I know,” Steve says, “but I don’t want to see you hurt, and Rumlow’s not worth another incident.”

“Oh, so it’s fine only if _you’re_ the one hurting me?”

It’s cruel and childish and Tony has no excuse for it except that he’s pissed and his heart is still beating too fast, reeling from the little flashback he had, and he’s angry at himself for letting Rumlow get to him, and angry that there’s a truth to Steve’s words.

To Steve’s credit, he only clenches and unclenches his fist, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath before he meets Tony head on again. While his gaze is steady, there’s a tremor in his voice. “I will always be sorry for that. And I watched you die four times because of it. I watched as Bruce kept ramping up the voltage and nearly declared your time of death,” Steve looks away, pressing the base of his palms against his eyes to stem the pressure building there, “and I just kept thinking and thinking – why’d you waste your life on someone like me? You shouldn’t have, and you shouldn’t waste your time on someone like Rumlow either.”

Part of Tony wants to shout and punch and just release all the pent up turmoil in his heart, because how dare Steve talk like that, how dare he assume that he knows best for Tony? He’s tired of feeling confused, of hurting and wondering and not knowing, of questioning his own self and every little thing. But Steve – Tony knows that Steve is trying his utmost, and the heartbreak in Steve’s voice is just wrong.

And at the heart of it, Tony understands the grief and guilt, understands it just as he himself still doesn’t believe he deserves forgiveness for Rumiko even after all these years.

“Steve,” Tony murmurs, one hand hovering over his shoulder, not quite daring to touch as Steve shies away, “Steve, you’ve got to forgive yourself.”

It’s wrong for Steve to think that Tony wasted his time on Steve. Before everything had gone to hell between them, Tony had been happy, truly and wholly content, and Steve is trying, really, really trying to be better now. That makes him a far better man than Rumlow will ever be, and Tony understands that Steve’s anger at Rumlow is also largely anger at his own self.

“I don’t regret being with you,” Tony admits as Steve finally meets his eyes. It’s a fragile thing, the hope that Tony finds there, mingled with anguish and sorrow and self-loathing, and for all that Tony still aches from Steve’s words, he knows that it will continue hurting if they both don’t move on, if they continue cutting at each other because of anger and guilt.

Continuing like this will only bring more regret.

So, as Tony finally lets his hand wrap around Steve’s arm, gentle and careful and firm, Tony confesses into the silence of Steve’s grief, the weight at last falling off Tony’s shoulders, “I forgive you.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Steve shakes his head, reaching up to take Tony’s hand away, but Tony refuses to be moved.

“If I can forgive you, then you _have_ to forgive yourself,” Tony insists, squeezing Steve’s arm in an effort to show the depth of the truth. Steve hasn’t moved, just keeps staring blankly and confusedly at Tony, so Tony forges on. “I liked – really liked – having you in my life, and this awkwardness and weird protectiveness is… I don’t like it. I’m not Rhodey, you can stop being so tense around me, Mr. Muscle, and I’ve got some terms and conditions with this olive branch, but that frown of yours is disturbing and your moping is stressful to be around.”

Biting his lip, Steve asks, “I’m… sorry?”

Tony sighs, letting go of Steve in favour of throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “That’s the point! We’re both sorry and it’s not useful or practical and it’s making us miserable. So proper truce this time, exes can still be friends, right?”

Steve shrugs and Tony shrugs back, “I can have my lawyers draft up a contract if needed.”

That makes Steve snort incredulously, and it’s enough to break the tension. “Thank you,” Steve finally says, a small smile beginning to bloom cautiously across his lips, “I’d like that – to be friends – does that mean – can I, uh, can I hug you?”

“Sure?” Tony replies, because while he’s still trying to figure out this entire mess, he’s sure that Steve won’t hurt him, and that trust is enough for Tony to spread his arms as Steve carefully holds him, the warmth of Steve’s palm high on his back burning and calming. This familiar unfamiliar slotting of themselves against each other, the scent of Steve’s old-fashioned detergent lingering in his shirt, and the way Steve holds Tony differently now, with desperation and reverence clear in the gentleness of his grip.

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs over and over again. There’s a wet spot growing on the shoulder of Tony’s shirt as Steve begins to tremble. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tony whispers back. Then, more firmly, “it’s going to be okay.”

And for the first time in a long, long while, Tony actually finds that he believes those words.

He finds that they are a promise.


	23. Riddles of the Heart

**_Day 301_ **

****

“That little girl, the one with early onset Huntington’s? My nanobots can act as replacement neurons while repairing existing ones. And we can also use them to trick the neural stem cells into making the correct trineucleoride repeats!”

Taking a breath, Tony heaves. He’s just run all the way across the hospital to get to Steve’s room, because this is groundbreaking. The girl only has a few more months left at best with current treatments when she should have her whole future, and this – this could save a child’s life. This could change the entire field of neuroscience and medicine. And it could save even more lives.

Tony’s buzzing with energy and Steve’s staring at Tony because of course he should be, Tony’s just revolutionised science again, and –

“Sorry, who is this?”

There are two mothers in the room, and Steve’s holding a thermometer to their child’s ear, looking fondly amused at Tony.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says without any remorse and with all the charm he has – which, judging by their faces has no effect on them and all the effect on Steve. It doesn’t bog Tony down, he’s giddy with the exhilaration of discovery, and he points a commanding finger at Steve, “talk to me. ASAP. We have a life to save.”

As Tony spins out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him, he hears Steve shout, “only if Peggy approves!”

The Director will, of course, approve 93% of all of Tony’s harebrained schemes, and Tony grins even wider at the barely restrained excitement and awe in Steve’s voice.

For all their differences, they both became doctors to save lives, and in times like these, when Tony’s entire being feels full and overflowing, Tony thinks they became doctors to save their own life above all else, because it is times like these that remind Tony life is worth something.

That life has meaning.

* * *

**_Day 311_ **

****

“Pops? Are you and dad happy again?”

Tony smiles at Peter. They’re at Tony’s place, snuggling in Pepper’s sofa and enjoying JARVIS’ services in streaming Peter’s favorite Captain America episodes while DUM-E whizzes around to bring them blueberry smoothies and deformed pancakes.

“I’m always happy when I’m with you, Pumpkin Eater.”

Peter shakes his head, ignoring Hawkeye’s supreme shooting skills on screen in favour of glaring at Tony with too sharp eyes, “I mean, are you happy with dad?”

When Rhodey told Tony way back in MIT with a terrifying certainty that Tony would get karmic retribution for being a smartass, Tony hadn’t thought of the possibility that his own too smart kid would be the one delivering it. How does one explain the complications of the heart beyond its four chambers and four valves?

 _Am I happy?_ Tony asks himself. If it were a simple _yes_ or _no_ question on a test, which would he circle? It shouldn’t be that hard. He could ask JARVIS to scan him for serotonin and dopamine and oxytocin.

He’s not as happy as he used to be, curled up blissfully ignorant in Steve’s arms, but he’s certainly happier than he used to be before he came here. Now, Tony realises, he’s content. And in some ways, that means more than being happy.

So he lets his smile turn softer as he fondly wraps Peter in his arms, pulling them even closer together. “I’m happy,” he tells his son in simpler terms.

After one last scrutinizing look that’s far too intelligent for a child his age, Peter finally shifts his eyes back to the screen with a smile of his own. “Good. ‘Cause dad’s been smiling more lately, and I want you to be happy too.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just presses a lingering kiss into Peter’s curls as the boy gasps excitedly at Iron Man lifting Captain America into the skies. He wants more, he wants more than one day a week with Peter, wants to go back, wants to move forward, wants Steve’s soothing voice bringing him safe home from a nightmare, and wants everything in between and even more.

But he’s content with what he has. And that has to be enough.


	24. The Gentleness of Home

**_Day 321_ **

It’s Tony’s birthday today. He doesn’t expect much and it’s a deeply carved childhood habit to not care too much about the day. Perhaps three months ago, he would have looked a little bit forward to today, when Steve had cheered gleefully after he managed to wheedle the real date from JARVIS.

Before Steve, only three living people knew the closely guarded secret, and Peggy, Rhodey and Pepper know well enough that all Tony wants and needs is the comfort of their presence. Somehow, Natasha knows too, now, although Tony never gave her a hint that his Wikipedia birthday was most definitely not the day he’d first kicked and screamed and brought misery to Howard’s world. She had shown up at Tony’s door early in the morning with a blueberry muffin and a quick peck at Tony’s cheek before disappearing and ordering Tony to enjoy his day off.

Today is a Sunday, which fortunately gives Rhodey and Pepper the time to fly in to New York for a dinner, and Tony had hoped that Steve would be willing to let him trade his usual full Saturday with Peter for a half-day Sunday. Peter doesn’t know the significance of the day, but Tony wanted to for once spend his birthday doing something that made him truly and wholly happy.

Steve had frowned and asked, “Why? Are you busy on Saturday? I think he wants to go somewhere on Sunday.”

Tony had hurriedly said ‘ _no_ ’ because all those months ago Steve had made a special alert for the date, and it hurt to be reminded that Steve had so completely erased Tony’s presence from his life that he would forget. 

With how much effort and care Steve had put in trying to rebuild their friendship, some part of Tony held a hope that if all else failed, they could still be close enough friends for Steve to be added to Tony’s little family. Maybe, he’d invite Steve next year.

Instead of moping and puttering uselessly around the apartment, Tony lets himself bask in the shower, letting the hot water scald his skin until it flushes red, scrubbing away the oil and grime and fatigue from a long, tiring week. He’ll treat himself to the greasiest cheeseburgers in town for lunch, and then perhaps a massage.

JARVIS informs Tony that it’s 11:19 when he exits the bathroom with his boxers, and he digs around his closet to find a pair of jeans, pulling them on before rummaging again for a shirt.

He stiffens when he pulls out a large worn t-shirt, white and plain and achingly familiar. Tony will vehemently take this to his grave, forcing JARVIS to delete all record of it, but he spends a minute just holding it to his chest, pressing the cotton fabric to his cheek for a moment before taking a deep breath. Steve had left it here two or three months ago, and Tony had victoriously hidden it from him, and it still had the lingering remnants of Steve’s cologne on it.

After allowing himself just that one short moment of weakness, Tony snaps himself back to the present and lays the shirt out on his bed, carefully folding it up. He makes his way into the kitchen and manages to fish out a good quality plastic bag, tucking the folded shirt inside before coming back to his room.

He’s not quite hungry yet, and as Tony scans his cluttered bedroom, he finds several bits and pieces scattered around that belong to Steve, and he might as well return them. This isn’t how Tony planned to spend today, but he supposes that he could try that new year in life bullshit and try to move on with his life. It’s evident that whatever friendship Steve is working towards with Tony, Steve doesn’t hold any desire to go back to how they used to be – not after Tony’s been faced to confront how thoroughly Steve cast Tony out of his life.

Maybe Steve is only working on a closer friendship for Peter’s sake, and Tony understands that. He just never thought it would hurt this much, realising the extent of what he’s lost. Now that he’s been given the time to recover from his hurt – Steve’s effort and thoughtfulness serving as a healing balm – Tony realises he wants to try again, this time trying perhaps for something truer, deeper, without too much hiding and more talking and learning from the past instead of shoving it away.

And yet, maybe this is the catharsis he needs, Tony thinks as he takes out the dark blue tie left in his sock drawer. He reaches into the next drawer, where he takes out the physics textbook Steve bought to read while Tony and Peter tinkered. Gently, Tony slides it in the bag next to the shirt. He picks up stray color pencils and collects the two sketchbooks Steve had forgotten, using all his strength of will not to open them. Tony doesn’t want to do that to himself, not today.

Then, he moves to the bathroom, where Steve’s toothbrush still stands beside his in a tall glass, and there’s the bottle of shampoo Tony had insisted on buying especially for Steve. Tony doesn’t suppose Steve will want it, and wonders distantly what he’ll do with the two extra bottles he’d bought with it.

Abandoning the bathroom, Tony grabs the bag from its place on his bed and brings it over to the guest bedroom, which had become Peter’s room for whenever he wants or needs it. He won’t ask Peter to give it back to Steve, but it will make it easier for Tony to remember to do so when Steve drops Peter off next weekend.

When that’s all done, Tony realises he still isn’t wearing a shirt, and grabs a random shirt, slipping it on before moving on to pick one of his sunglasses to wear outside, humming softly to himself.

He had meant what he’d tried to tell Peter: Tony is content with what he has. He might want more, but he’s happy enough with what he has. He’s had a second chance with love and romance, and while he doesn’t think he’ll get a third chance, doing it all a second time has taught Tony to forgive himself too – to care for himself too, even if he won’t ever love himself, he’s learned that he should at least care.

And Peter. His brilliant little boy is growing up exactly as Tony had hoped he would get to, with a loving family – an amazing father who would go to the ends of the earth for him, and a slew of honorary aunts and uncles watching over him.

Tony had never imagined he’d be able to see his son, much less be involved in his life, and it’s amazing to be able to. It makes Tony far more than content.

He’s just put on a watch to go with the red tinted sunglasses he’d chosen when the doorbell rings. He really doesn’t want to deal with anyone right now except for his family, and he knows that it’s impossible for whoever it is to be one of them, so he dawdles and goes to pat DUM-E.

The bot is chirping happily with its dunce cap perched on its head as it zooms around with a camera in its claw, JARVIS having apparently informed it what the significance of today is. But the ringing doesn’t stop, and Tony wonders how long he’ll have to pretend that no one is home for whoever is pestering him to leave and go bother someone else instead and Tony can go celebrate with himself and some beef patties.

After about a minute, the ringing is accompanied by loud knocking, and he realises he isn’t going to get any peace until he gets rid of whoever is at the door. He gives DUM-E’s camera one last wave before he pads to the door, sunglasses perched firmly on his nose and a glare ready to scare the shit out of whoever is making such a ruckus.

He turns the lock and pulls the door open, tightening his grip around the door handle as he sees who’s standing right in front of him.

It’s Steve.

He’s all dressed up, in a fancy suit with a tie and everything, clean shaven and shoes polished, with a bunch of flowers held up in front of him, and Tony has half a mind to slam the door and open it again just to try see if what his eyes see will change.

And behind Steve is Peter, whose hair is also combed back neatly despite wearing thankfully normal clothes.

Steve clears his throat, shuffling uncomfortably, and Tony’s mind is working overtime to figure out what he’s doing here dressed to the nines like this. Steve doesn’t have an important meeting to get to – JARVIS has checked Steve’s schedule before Tony had asked permission to spend today with Peter – and the flowers?

 _Oh_ , Tony thinks, strings connecting rapidly. Steve must be going on a date, and is going to ask Tony to take care of Peter because, after all, Tony had said he’s free today, right?

As much as Tony had wanted to spend today with Peter, he doesn’t think he’s in the right mind to take care of a child, especially not now. He didn’t think Steve could be so cruel or uncaring, but apparently he is and Tony is torn between yelling at him and punching him and slamming the door so he can change his plans to moping over a box of Chinese noodles.

He can’t though, not when there’s a kid watching, so instead he asks tiredly, grateful for the glasses masking his eyes because he really can’t find the strength to hide the mess of feelings in him, “hey Peter. What do you want, Steve?”

Steve’s eyes widen at the crack in Tony’s voice, while Peter tugs angrily at Steve’s suit, mouthing something at his dad that Tony’s can’t quite figure out over the dread building up in him.

And then Steve starts speaking and Tony’s really beginning to think he’s stuck in an ugly dream because Steve is stuttering, “I, uh, Peggy said you’d be free for lunch and gave me a long lecture – that’s not important, I wanted to ask – do you want – would you like to – ”

“Do you want to go out with my dad?” Peter blurts out, and both Tony and Steve turn wide, shocked eyes at the little boy who raises his hands defensively, “I thought you needed help! You’re so slow we need to get to the reservation.”

“What reservation?” Tony clings to that last sentence because it’s the only thing that makes the smallest bit of sense.

Steve looks as panicked as Tony is, and he thrusts the flowers at Tony’s chest, the scent of roses and lilies and daisies overwhelming, and blurts out, “for you. These are for you.”

Mechanically, Tony takes the flowers, gaping at Steve, “what do you think you’re doing?”

There’s a red flush all over Steve’s cheeks and neck now, and he cautiously takes Tony’s free hand in both of his own, the warmth and roughness familiar enough to help ground Tony as Steve at last explains in a ramble, “I’m sorry to spring this on you like this, but I asked Peggy for her blessing, and she told me I should take you out today for lunch – she recommended cheeseburgers or Italian so I made reservations at that place you kept talking about but we never got the chance to go – and I was hoping that you’d maybe give me a second chance?”

Tony’s still staring blankly at Steve, and the small smile on Steve’s face turns both braver and sadder all at once, as if bracing for the worst but needing to try one last time, “Tony Stark, you are the kindest, craziest, strongest man I’ve ever met – and the smartest, too,” he adds with a soft laugh, tightening his hold on Tony’s hand and looking right past the red shades into Tony’s eyes, “I am so, so sorry I was too blind and conceited to do right by you, and if you let me try to do better this time, I will never take you for granted ever again and even if I can’t promise not to hurt you, I can promise to listen to you and to not let my fears and anger blind me from the most important parts of my life.”

One hand still clasping Tony’s hand, Steve reaches out with his other hand to cup Tony’s cheek, gentle and safe, and Tony leans into it, throat to tight to speak.

“I’m selfish,” Steve admits, “I should be so, so grateful to have you just as a friend, but I’m also greedy and I don’t think I could ever have enough of you, because _god_ , Tony, you’re amazing and you give me hope and you’re such a wonderfully good man, and frankly, Peter is ready to murder me if I didn’t at least try to ask you, and we’ll understand if you say no, but I had to try, and... and I’m sorry. You don’t want to. I’ll go. We’ll go.”

Steve is pulling away and that finally clicks a switch that allows Tony to move, shaking his head and holding tight to Steve’s hand in his. He lets the flowers drop to the floor and a sob escapes past his lips. 

He’s crying now, but how could he not after that speech? And then he pulls at Steve, wrapping his arms around him, the muscles of Steve’s back tense as Steve returns the hug and Tony lets himself lean his shaking body onto Steve.

“Don’t go,” Tony mumbles, and distantly he can hear Peter cheer and wrap his small arms around their waists.

“Please don’t cry,” Steve tells Tony, the panic back in his voice but body relaxing as he holds Tony firmly against him, rubbing soothing circles into Tony’s shoulder. “I won’t leave if you don’t want me to.”

“No, we have to leave or we’ll be late,” Peter reminds them, but the boy also makes no move to let go.

“Stay,” Tony orders Steve, “I hate you, you idiot.”

There’s no venom in the words, only a fondness that slips freely from Tony, and Steve nods, chin bumping gently against the top of Tony’s head and Tony can feel the happiness radiating from Steve’s very core.

“ _Your_ idiot,” Steve agrees quickly, the laughter rumbling in his chest. 

Wrapped in their arms, Tony thinks that he might have been too quick to judge his birthday. This, after all, feels like a new beginning that Tony can’t wait to explore.

Well, he _can_ wait for a little longer here, Tony supposes, relishing the warmth of Steve’s affection and Peter’s joy and wishing to stay forever.


	25. A Promise of Forever

**_Day 321.5_ **

****

Here, back at Peggy’s townhouse among the people he trusts and loves the most, Tony feels immensely thankful to be alive. It’s a rare and funny feeling, but it fizzes through him and makes him unable to stop grinning like a madman. He doesn’t have to care, though, because these people don’t care either as long as he’s happy.

And he is.

He’s far more than content. This is more than Tony had ever dreamed he’d get.

Tony’s sitting at the head of the table, Steve on his right and Peter to his left, and there’s Peggy, Pepper, Rhodey, Natasha, and Bruce around the table too. As she always does once every year, Peggy had whipped up the fish and chips recipe Jarvis and Ana used to cook, with the others bringing a large assortment of food, from Bruce’s Indian curry to Natasha’s Thai soup.

“I didn’t remember you being on the invite, Rogers,” Rhodey glares at Steve as he serves himself some noodles, and Peggy nudges his ribs with her elbow.

“Children, behave,” she chides, snatching the fork from his hand to scoop up some noodles for herself, smiling as Tony laughs and Rhodey mumbles, “sorry, Aunt Pegs,” but continues to glare at Steve, who looks sheepish.

Under the table, Tony reaches to hold Steve’s hand, squeezing it. He wants Steve and Rhodey to get along, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Natasha smirk but continues holding Steve’s hand regardless.

“We had a date today,” Steve announces with a smile of his own, happy to bear with Rhodey’s protectiveness if it meant having Tony by his side. Bruce groans, muttering something about needing to install non-transparent walls in their lab, and Steve ignores him, “thanks for the advice, Peggy.”

Peter chimes in around his mouthful of potatoes, “if Dad and Pops get too loud tonight, can I stay at your place, Aunt Tasha?”

“Can’t he stay at my place?” Pepper protests, eager to actually spend time with Peter after all their video calls, “Tony’s place _is_ my place anyways.”

“What were they talking about that you think they’ll get loud, Peter?” Natasha asks too innocently, the laughter clear in her smile.

Steve is frantically shaking his head, but it’s too late because Peter’s already cheerfully telling everyone, “Dad said he’d suck all of Pops’ fears away and Pops promised to scream loud enough.”

Rhodey chokes, Steve turns redder than ever, and Peggy reaches over to cover Peter’s ears.

Tony just cackles.

It’ll be a long night, he knows, but it will pass too quickly in a blur of laughter and love and the comfort of family.

* * *

They all end up staying in the many guestrooms of the townhouse, Peter having been tucked in earlier in Tony’s childhood bedroom, the boy squealing excitedly at the Captain America bedsheets, distracted enough by them to not complain too much at having to sleep before the adults.

Rhodey gifts Tony a giant spider doll bigger than his chest, with red eyes and fluffy legs that flop all over the place.

“No,” Steve quickly tells Tony as Tony grins far too widely at Steve.

With the smirk of someone who knows they’ll win, Tony simply says, “yes.”

“That thing is not going to stare at us tonight. It’s not going in the bedroom.”

Rhodey protests gleefully, “Tony can do whatever Tony wants with it.”

“We can hang it from the ceiling above the bed, make sure Peter can’t steal it from me,” Tony nods as he pecks Steve’s cheek, wrapping the spider’s legs around Steve’s waist and giggling – _giggling_ – happily.

Steve thinks he’d suffer anything to see Tony so happy.

He presses a kiss of his own on Tony’s temple, delighting in the way Tony shifts closer.

* * *

It’s past midnight when the group begins to dwindle, each of them retreating to a guestroom, far too late for Peggy to let anyone drive home alone.

Tony drags Steve to one of the guestrooms with a bigger bed, his gifts carefully piled on one of Peggy’s sofas, the spider’s legs menacingly guarding his hoard.

Steve hasn’t given Tony a present, but Tony doesn’t let it affect him much – this, having his family grow, having Steve’s hand in his, Tony hasn’t felt this full in years, his heart brimming and overflowing.

He locks the door behind them, pushing Steve further and further back until they both topple on the bed, Tony falling on Steve’s chest with a laugh, kissing him through his shirt. Steve’s hand tangles in Tony’s hair, and Tony moans, moving up to nip at Steve’s neck.

“Tony, wait, no, stop,” Steve breathlessly pleads, his hands now pushing against Tony, and Tony wrenches himself away, scrambling to leave the bed to give Steve space, but, “no, Tony don’t leave.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair, trying to get the ghost of Steve’s touch away so he can think. “What did I do wrong?”

Steve shakes his head, eyes wide as he sits up at the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling into his pocket. “Nothing. I just… I just wanted to give you this for your birthday.”

There’s a silver key in Steve’s raised hand, his other hand reaching out to wrap around Tony’s waist, pulling him in.

“What’s it for?” Tony hears himself ask, pliantly moving to Steve’s touch, taking the key and feeling the warmth of Steve in the metal.

Steve smiles, looking up at Tony with a softness that hurts, with a devotion that gives Tony half a mind to run, scared as he is of the depths he finds in Steve, and yet when the corners of Steve’s eyes crinkle, Tony finds himself rooted to the spot, unable to move.

“Come home with me. Tomorrow, next week, next year, come home with me,” Steve fiercely asks, begs, wishes. His hand wraps around Tony’s, closing Tony’s fingers around the key, gentle and steady and sure, “if you’re not ready, then consider this a promise that I’ll wait for you.”

Tony can’t think of anything to say – what words are there to describe the bubbling mess in him? Love might be the only word, but love seems like such a small thing, inadequate and nothing against Steve and Tony and this brighter than bright joy and hope and warmth between them.

And so Tony doesn’t say anything, just lets his other hand curl around Steve’s jaw, titling his face up so Tony can see the light of his eyes better, and then Tony bends down, kissing his temple, his cheeks, his lips, tasting the salt of tears and hoping that where words fail, Steve will understand too the depths of Tony’s own devotion, and the elation that Tony feels at the thought of _home_.

* * *

They’re lying sated a few hours later, Tony using Steve’s chest as a pillow, his head tucked under Steve’s chin and their legs tangled together when Steve murmurs, “you deserve the universe.”

Tony can feel the echo of the words, the rise and fall of Steve’s chest, the way Steve’s heart continues beating without a skip, truthful and constant. Tony doesn’t believe the words, but he _does_ believe in Steve, and the vehemence with which Steve believes them.

Closing his eyes, Tony smiles against Steve’s chest, the darkness of sleep not as fearful as it used to be.

He thinks of Rumiko’s brown eyes, so different from Steve’s blue, and how she used to be the one turn Tony into her pillow, how her laugh was piercing and loud, a shard of light cutting into Tony’s dark – how he had wanted to spend forever conquered by the steel in her voice and the silk in her touch.

He thinks of her cold skin against his lips, of how he had wept and broken at the loss of her, praying foolishly for her to come back, and he thinks of her last wishes for him to be happy. He thinks of the low rumble of Steve's laugh, of morning coffee and the relentless, untiring care that batters against the walls of Tony's defenses until he's forced to concede and reveal himself to the sunlight of Steve's gentleness. Tony thinks of how Steve allows Tony to conquer him, the sincerity of his belief in Tony's goodness, and Tony feels a weight lift from his shoulders.

Steve’s fingers are tracing mindless circles on Tony’s back, and Tony accepts the truth that has been true since far before Tony realised it.

“I only want you,” he whispers in promise, half wanting Steve to hear, half afraid of admitting the depths of his own affection so freely.

Steve moves to hold him tighter, and Tony feels himself letting go.

He loved Rumiko, but he loves Steve too. Not more, not less, not equally. Tony loves them differently, and he feels his heart grow at the thought of it, beating stronger and harder.

In the darkness behind his closed eyes, Tony gives Rumiko a final farewell. She will always have his heart, but it has shifted and expanded and become Steve’s and Peter’s too, just as it is also Rhodey’s and Pepper’s and Peggy’s.

Reaching for Steve’s hand, Tony opens his eyes as he presses a long, lingering kiss on Steve’s knuckle, rubbing his thumb over them when Steve squeezes his hand with a happy noise.

“You have me,” Steve promises back.

And Tony feels his heart grow a little bit more.


	26. At the Hearth of Home

**_Day 366_ **

****

“Good morning, beloved,” Steve turns from the toaster to wave at a dishevelled Tony. Tony had spent all night scrapping blueprints and drawing new ones for a self-sustaining cooling system to deliver to hospitals and villages hardest hit by rising temperatures, the inspiration flashing and refusing to let Tony rest until he had finalised it.

They live together now, Steve having helped Tony convert his spare room into an adequate workroom to house DUM-E and Tony’s tools, with Pepper’s place that Tony had been using being turned into a glorified storage for the mess of wires and batteries Tony hoards. JARVIS has also been installed, Peter unable to contain his excitement at the thought of a fully fledged AI helping him with his homework.

That forces them to think of limits and rules and all the compromises that come with living together.

There’s a rule that Tony only gets a maximum of two non-consecutive all-nighters a week, and Peter cannot enter Tony’s workroom without supervision until he graduates high school. In turn, Steve agrees to leave Tony be when he works, and tries to understand that part of Tony will always thirst for better and more and even better.

Sometimes, Steve will sit on the couch shoved into the corner of the workroom and let his hands trace the curves of Tony’s brilliance, the sharp edges of Tony’s gaze, the familiar slopes of Tony’s crinkled smile. Other times, Steve will lie on top of the covers of their bed, too tired to stop himself from drifting off into sleep. Those times, Steve will wake up in the morning with a blanket spread over him, and the empty space next to him warm and safe.

Last night was one of the latter times, Steve having gone to bed alone but waking up knowing that Tony had spared the time to take a break just to check on Steve.

It’s reason enough for Steve to make Tony’s favorite toast and pancakes for breakfast, taking advantage of Peter being in school and having no morning appointments to spoil Tony, who comes over to Steve with a bounce in his steps that tells Steve all about the night’s success.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Tony pecks Steve’s cheek, then beelining to the counter to grab for the warm mug of coffee Steve brewed earlier, sipping gratefully into it. As he regains full lucidity, Tony takes notice of the bowl of dough next to the mug, “why’re you making special pancakes?”

Steve grins, turning back to his sizzling pan and taking out a plate from the cupboard beneath the stove, “it’s been a year since we met.”

“That’s not true,” Tony frowns even as JARVIS chimes in to confirm that Steve is indeed correct.

“I was a dick, but a year feels like it needs a small celebration.”

Steve flops the pancake onto the plate, putting large amounts of blueberry sauce over it before he serves it on the counter in front of Tony, reaching around to take the dough. Tony is smiling widely at him, “I like your dick, though, and it isn’t even our anniversary, you sap.”

Snorting, Steve pours some dough onto the pan, “says the one who’s dug through an AI’s records to find the exact time we first kissed.”

Tony elects to ignore him, changing the subject completely, “did you buy this coffee when you drove Peter to school?”

“No,” Steve hums as he flips the pancake. It’s not a perfect circle, but he’s not cooking to impress. “Why?”

“It tastes exactly like the coffee you bring to the lab in the mornings. Is it the same beans?” Tony asks in between loud slurps, “I need the recipe.”

Steve stiffens, a red flush creeping into his ears as he admits, “I needed efficiency to sustain your ungodly coffee habits, so I learned to make my own. And I could experiment on what you like.”

There’s the heavy thump of a mug hitting a hard surface, and Steve pointedly focuses all his attention to moving the pancake to another plate and pouring the next batch of dough. Steve hadn’t revealed to anyone the extent and speed with which he’d been enchanted by Tony, and part of him is scared that Tony will be freaked by the lengths Steve had gone to.

“You experimented on what coffee I liked? And all those paper coffee cups I threw away?” Tony asks, a note of awe laced in his confusion that allows Steve to slightly relax, “did you _buy_ fake coffee cups?”

Making a non-committal noise, Steve points to the small cabinet at the other end of the kitchen, and he watches from the corner of his eye as Tony walks over to it, hearing the sharp breath Tony takes when he opens it and towers of unused paper cups tumble out.

Steve meets Tony’s wide-eyed look with a guilty smile and a shrug, quickly going back to pretending to focus on his cooking. It doesn’t work, though, because for all that Tony might be slightly detached from his emotions, Tony is shrewd and perceptive, particularly with regard to Steve.

As Steve flops another pancake to the growing stack on the plate, he feels two arms wrap around his waist, Tony hugging Steve from behind, leaning forward to press into Steve as much as possible. His chin barely reach Steve’s shoulders, and Steve can feel Tony rising on the tips of his toes to press a kiss beneath Steve’s jaw.

“Thank you,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s skin, and Steve easily understands all the hidden weight behind those two simple words.

* * *

**_Day 416_ **

****

“I’m sorry,” Tony sighs from the bedroom door, Steve’s back turned towards him. It’s Steve’s birthday, which makes it their one year anniversary, but Tony had almost entirely missed dinner and then had to leave again not long after.

Tony isn’t as much of a celebrity as he used to be before he stepped down as CEO and gave the job to Pepper in the wake of Rumiko’s death, and yet the media is still hungry for gossip and Tony still has to contend with the Board of Directors and Obadiah to pass his patents through to production.

More motivated than ever by a desire to do right by Steve, Tony had covertly launched an investigation into Stark Industries, trying new avenues to try uncover the leak in weapons that neither Tony nor JARVIS had been able to find, and just yesterday, they had managed to hit a possible trail of fake transactions that chilled Tony. It seemed, however, that somebody had managed to get wind of Tony’s activities, which was ridiculous because Tony had only notified Pepper and Obadiah.

Tony trusted Pepper unconditionally, and while Tony didn’t trust Obie to not put Tony’s medical patents into military use, he trusted Obie enough to help sway the Board and make the investigation more smooth sailing.

The Board had found out, though, and were filing an injunction against Tony that forced Tony to abandon his work at SHIELD and plans for the day in favour of battling them, the media shitstorm, and their threats against Steve and Peter, who they somehow knew of too and thought they could use to try control Tony.

Tony had explained to Steve that it was urgent business, but didn’t have time to explain much more. Between Steve’s anger or Steve’s safety, Tony knew which one he would pick without question.

Now, though, faced with Steve’s stony silence, Tony wishes he didn’t have to choose. He’s tired and stressed, and having to cope with Steve’s anger and Peter’s disappointment is a weight Tony doesn’t think he can bear.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Tony says to the silences, lingering for another hopeful moment that maybe Steve will let him explain. Steve stays unmoving, though, and Tony struggles to breathe as he turns around.

His life is a mess and this is only the first time Steve’s been exposed to the true depths of the complications that come with Tony being a Stark. Something bitter wells up in Tony, and he pushes it quickly back down. If he were Steve, he would also find it difficult to cope with these heights of insanity, and Tony feels himself forgive Steve for any change of mind now or in the future.

Before Tony attempts to sleep, he brings himself to the kitchen, pouring a glass of cold water, trying to calm his frayed nerves. It does little to help, and Tony sighs, leaning against the counter and dropping his face into his hands, trying to breathe through the tightness.

He doesn’t know how long he stand there, just trying to get some proper air, he only knows that the next thing he’s aware of is a hand snaking around his waist, settling against his hip.

“I’m sorry, too,” Steve confesses. “Pepper called me earlier today to explain what you couldn’t. I’m angry at those assholes, not you – well, I’m a bit angry at you, too, for putting yourself in the line of fire for me, but mainly at them. Hearing you apologise and take the blame for them just made me even angrier and I needed to calm down before I talked with you.”

Tony doesn’t lean into Steve, afraid of what more Steve will say, afraid of breaking the fragility between them. “I’m sorry,” Tony apologises again, the words muffled against his hands.

He feels Steve shake his head. “Don’t apologise. You don’t have to prove yourself to me, Tony. I don’t need you to find out who was responsible for the explosion – I do want you to find out who so it doesn’t happen again – but I don’t want you to do it because you feel like you owe me something.”

Gently, Steve coaxes Tony’s head out of his hands, turning Tony around so he can look him in the eye. “I want you safe, Tony, above all else, I want you safe and happy. And this whole mess isn’t on you.”

“I missed your birthday _and_ our anniversary,” Tony whispers guiltily, flicking his eyes towards the floor, too scared to meet the fierceness in Steve’s gaze.

“I hope we have so many more birthdays and anniversaries together that it won’t matter that you missed one out of so many,” Steve kindly tells Tony, and those words are enough to surprise Tony into looking at Steve’s smile. Knowing that he has Tony’s full attention, Steve goes on, “you need to keep yourself safe to see all those years ahead of us.”

There are tears falling down Tony’s cheeks now, and Steve closes the little distance between them to take Tony in his arms, holding him as he trembles against Steve.

“Come to bed with me,” Steve whispers in Tony’s ear, soft and sure, “we’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”

Tony nods against Steve’s shirt, and they stay like that for a moment longer until Steve reaches down behind Tony’s knees, carrying Tony as he clings desperately to Steve.

Usually, Tony would complain, but now, as he lets himself begin to believe in the possibilities of the coming years, Tony succumbs to the exhaustion of the day, the light sway in Steve’s steps lulling him into sleep, easy in the knowledge that when he wakes up in the morning, Steve be right there next to him.


	27. The End of the Beginning

**_Day 500_ **

****

Curled up in front of the TV with Steve and Peter, Tony feels the most peaceful he’s been in months. They’ve put Obadiah in prison for double dealing, and launched an investigation into Stane Hospitals for illegal human experimentation and malpractice, and half of the Board has been replaced. Stark Industries took a major hit, but with Tony’s patents finally being put into production without too many obstacles, it wasn’t long before they rebounded.

Today’s the first day Tony’s allowed himself to rest with everything wrapped up as neat as such a scandal could be wrapped. Peggy had ordered Steve to take a day off to take care of Tony, the tension of the past months having been hard on all of them.

“Dad, Pops, what’s an ITSY?”

Tony turns away from the screen, wide eyes incredulously assessing Peter. “You solved it?”

“Solved what?” Steve asks, pausing the screen to properly look at Peter, whose watch – the watch that was Tony’s gift to him – is lighting up his face with a red glow, a small hologram shining from the watch’s glass face. There are the words ‘ _To activate I.T.S.Y, please describe Bitsy._ ’

Tony sits up straighter, turning a sheepish grin at Steve. “In my defence, I thought it would take him more time to find out, _and_ I put a Training Wheels Protocol so it’d be harmless.”

“Tony, what did you do?”

“Intelligent Tech for Snarky Youngsters,” Tony quickly explains, and Peter hangs on to every word, “it was meant to protect him in case anyone unsavoury made the link between me and Peter. Also to serve as a friend who understands the college level stuff Peter knows.”

Steve’s honestly torn between sighing in despair that his boyfriend thinks it is perfectly alright to give a highly advanced, powerful AI to an eight-year-old and laughing because he’s stuck with _two_ crazy genius now and he’s been conditioned by them to actually revel in their madness.

He eventually settles on the second as Peter cheers in delight, asking Tony a million and one questions that Tony struggles to keep up with.

“Well,” Steve chimes in, amused and adoring, “your son’s got your genius genes, can’t blame me for that one.”

When Tony meets Steve’s gaze, Steve finds that Tony looks equally fond and adoring. Here, between Tony and their son, Steve feels a desperate yearning to hold onto them and never let go. The rough edges of their laughter clashing and mingling sends Steve laughing too, unable to stop himself from basking in their joy.

And he doesn’t have to stop himself, because miraculously, impossibly, wondrously, this is his life, and he gets to have them, to hold them, to be with them.

Steve takes in the sight of Tony’s smile as it as it grows from wide to small, the slight curve of his lips, his raised cheeks and his shining eyes somehow truer than his grin, and Steve watches as Peter clambers eagerly onto Tony’s lap, chattering breathlessly with excitement and turning Tony’s smile softer and deeper.

Shifting to move closer to them, Steve thinks of what he said to Tony, about anniversaries and birthdays and so many more years ahead, and as Tony turns again to glance at Steve, stealing a quick kiss before he answers Peter’s next question, Steve thinks of his Ma’s ring tucked away beneath the bed.

It feels too fast, it feels to slow. They’ve known each other less than two years, and yet, Steve is entirely sure in a way he never thought he’d be.

He thinks of his Ma’s last wish for him and Peter to have a joyful life, and he knows his Ma would have loved Tony to bits. The smile tugging on Steve’s own lips grows bigger, his body helpless to contain the force of his happiness.

He knows they’ll fight countless times, they wouldn’t be themselves if their stubbornness and wilfulness and beliefs didn’t clash and bruise, but Steve also knows that they’ll fight for each other, too, and that’s what matters in the end.

Before Peter can ask his next question, Tony tickles Peter, their son giggling and calling for mercy, and Steve decides, sure and ready and unwavering, to get the family’s blessing, find a date, buy some flowers, and brew some coffee.

* * *

And then, it’ll be Steve’s turn to ask Tony his question.

* * *

After all, adding another anniversary to celebrate wouldn’t be so bad, especially when his fiancée – _husband –_ will be this wonderful, amazing, brilliant man.

* * *

But of course, Steve has to beat Tony to the question, and who wins is another story for another time entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Spoiler alert: they both win. After all, they have each other and what better way to live than to live together?)
> 
> Thank you for reading this story and for following it through to the end! :)
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you who left kudos and commented along the way, you all made my day, and I hope this ending ties all loose ends. I never thought I'd ever manage to write a story this long, and I don't think I will again, but look out for the (sort of lengthy) one-shots I'll be posting soon!


End file.
